Operation: OUTCAST
by AWashG
Summary: A veteran of the Post War Era, Spartan Andrew-G199 has an extensive combat record. While he'd rather leave the past behind, some operations refuse to be ignored. Andrew makes a choice to discuss his first mission, and explore why his conscience has been left marred.
1. Prelude

_**Prelude**_

**June 15th, 2568**

**Fort Keyes, Minerva, Lambda Rho System**

A sudden shout rang out through barracks followed by a loud thud, like flesh on metal. Heavy panting followed soon after. In the low light it was hard to make out who made the commotion. The panting stopped and a minute passed by in complete silence.

"Lights on," commanded a male voice. The barracks were empty aside from the lone man. It was a small building. Four racks lined one of the walls. Under each one was a foot locker and across from them were desks and wall lockers. He swung his legs over the side of his rack and stood up. Turning back to the rack one could see three dents in the wall. Third time this week. He walked to the desk and picked up a data-pad. Tapping a button on it brought up a voice prompt.

"Authorization gee one nine nine, alpha mike bravo nine three six. Log number … oh fuck it, I don't even remember at this point. It happened again. Woke up yelling. Punched the wall too. Third time in a week. Not sure how to process it. Scenery was familiar this time. The coat of paint on the armor indicated it was OUTCAST I was dreaming about. I'm getting the feeling it's that guilty conscience again. Doc told me not to sweat that anymore. I was following orders. I can't help it. I should've turned down that op.

"Details. Details, gotta remember to include those. I was looking up at the sky. No … I was on my back. Gunfire flyin' over me. My visor was tweaking out. That's right they blew open the gates. Compound was a fuckin' mess after it happened. I should probably document all of OUTCAST. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Sorry Doc, I'm cutting this one short. I need to get all this shit down in writing. End log."

The barracks fell silent again. The man stood up and walked into the restroom and washed his face in the sink. The cold water caused the skin on his face to tighten. The tattoo on his left cheek seemed to shrink as a result. An emerald green eyelash pit viper, fangs bared. His first tattoo, directly tied to the mission which haunted his dreams. The scar on his other cheek ran from his ear to the edge of his nostril. He examined his face in the mirror. Harlequin eyes stared back intently, scrutinizing every detail; from wrinkles to stubble. He sighed heavily.

"In the morning. It can wait 'til morning."


	2. Chapter 1: The Man in Green

_**Chapter One: The Man in Green**_

**June 16th, 2568**

**Fort Keyes, Minerva, Lambda Rho System**

"My name is Andrew-G199. I'm a category two SPARTAN-III. This story starts back on Earth in February of 2553. I had been selected for a special operation by the Office of Naval Intelligence...oh fuck all. Cut, delete all."

Andrew sat at his desk visibly frustrated. He wasn't that good writing down his life story. He needed to feel like he was talking to someone, not just a data-pad. Andrew spun the desk chair and kicked off towards his rack. He stopped short, reached down into the footlocker and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Within a second he wrenched the cap off and started to drink. He took a rather large swig and pushed off the rack, propelling himself towards the desk again. As he spun around Andrew saw his squad mate staring at him.

"Hitting the sauce a little early aren't we Andrew," King teased. "Didn't the doc tell you not to drink anymore? Bad for your mental health or whatever? Be a shame if she found out," he said with a smirk. Brandon King was a pain in the ass at best and an insufferable nuisance at worst, but he was one of Andrew's brother's.

"Fucking hell King. If you're gonna sneak up on me like that at least try to stab me," Andrew joked. "I ain't drinking to deal with my issues. I'm in need of some inspiration to help me with this project. I'm tryin' to tell the story of Operation OUTCAST. Problem is I'm shit at actually getting my thoughts out. I'm better at interviews."

"Awwww, cat got the Viper's tongue? Really though? You're opening up that can of worms," King questioned. He couldn't understand why Andrew would want to write down the mission that haunted his dreams. "I'm pretty sure the dents in your wall would say that's a bad idea."

"The cat may have my tongue, but that doesn't mean I can't bite," Andrew launched at King, sweeping his legs and pinning him to the floor. "Be careful how close you get, you might just find fangs in your leg. To answer your question, yes. I'm serious about it. I think that if I just get it out there, I might be able to reconcile with what happened. Feel like helping me," Andrew asked as he helped King to his feet.

"By help you, you mean let you record me asking about your first mission? The one that's left you with a guilty conscience for fifteen years? Fuck it! Let's go," King exclaimed. Andrew stood up and sat in his chair. Fishing through the desk he produced two clip-on microphones. He clipped one to his drab tan shirt and handed the other to King as the Spartan wheeled another chair over. King clipped the mic to his shirt, a dark grey athletic long sleeve. They simultaneously turned on the microphones and two indicators flashed green on the data-pad.

"Tell us a little about yourself to start. Give us an idea of the man we'll be getting to know," King started.

"I am Spartan Andrew-G199, a proud member and second in command of Fireteam Phoenix. I specialize in explosive ordinance, squad automatic weaponry, close quarters combat and extracting intelligence. I have a pretty extensive combat record having fought in several theaters against terrorists, Covenant Remnant forces, the Flood and Prometheans. Most notably was my time stationed on Trost. I've aided in humanitarian missions and rebuilt communities destroyed by war. I believe that I'm a good soldier, but that doesn't necessarily make me a good person. Sometimes in the service one has to sacrifice part of their soul to make it as far as I have. It's a difficult thing to deal with. I guess that's why we're here today.

"Sometimes you're given a mission that takes a piece of you. In February of 2553 I was approached by the Office of Naval Intelligence. My mission was simple; infiltrate an Insurrectionist cell, feed intelligence to O.N.I. and dismantle the cell from the inside out. What you're told to do and what actually happens are almost never the same. The Insurrection was on New Harmony, it was a fairly large group. They were mostly simple people, but years of getting shafted by the war effort left them bitter. Truth is, they had no idea how lucky they were. The war never got to their front door. Just look at Africa, half a continent glassed in a containment attempt to keep the Flood at bay. Anyway, when I got deployed to the planet we made it seem like I had gone rogue. The tracking beacon on my armor was ripped out, the Pelican was shot up and I scattered fake blood and imitation grey matter all over cockpit to make it look like I shot the pilot and dumped his corpse on the way to the Innies' compound. They should've seen right through my ploy. The UNSC would never just let a Spartan go rogue, much less a Spartan in full Gen 1 MJOLNIR armor. At the time I had a GUNGNIR helmet and kneepads, COMMANDO left shoulder, SECURITY right shoulder and the COLLAR Breacher supplemental chest piece. Forest green with navy blue markings. The first night I was there the 'commander' of the insurrection gave me the eye. The one that says 'I don't trust you and won't hesitate to kill you.' The only person who seemed nice was this kid, couldn't have been more than 17. He was an idealist. Hoped that maybe the UNSC would back off if they put up enough of a display. That couldn't have been farther from the truth."

"So Andrew, how exactly was your reception there? How did they react to a Pelican landing in the compound? What kind of tasks were you obligated to perform under their command, and how did you maintain contact with O.N.I," King asked. He shifted in his seat to get a little more comfortable. Andrew ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. He traced the scar over his cheek. To King the scar looked plain as it always did, to Andrew it felt like the scar was seering. He knew that documenting OUTCAST would bring to light things he'd rather leave in the dark, but he didn't think it would be this difficult.

"Well, a shaky Pelican making a rough landing is scary to these kinda people. It gets more frightening when a figure standing at two point one meters tall comes out of it brandishing an M739 and leaving behind bloody boot prints. My shields took three shots before they realized I wasn't firing. I spent three days in a cell before they took my story. The commander of the little operation didn't believe me one bit. He wanted proof. I tapped into the local UNSC battlenet, something O.N.I. taught me. His suspicions dropped when they mentioned a rogue Spartan on the planet. For all intents and purposes, that's exactly what I was. They had orders to fire on sight. He put me to work tapping UNSC comms, tracking convoys and taught me to build IEDs to ambush patrols. It wasn't until I caught another spy that he learned of my skill as an interrogator. Took two hours to make him crack. They were just gonna kill him. He kept my secret safe, but spilled everything else. Soon enough I was their pet Grim Reaper, but I knew the commander never trusted me. He called me a snake in the grass. Did you know that vipers use neurotoxins to kill their prey? The venom paralyzes their prey by blocking neuro-signals, it leads to cardiac arrest and asphyxiation. It seemed fitting for my mission, killing them slowly from the inside out. I started using the call sign 'Viper' while in the field."

"So that's where the nickname came from. I always wondered about that. Alright man, we should go get some chow before the grunts take all the good shit," King interjected.

"Good point. We can finish this project later," Andrew said in agreement. They turned off the mics and saved the progress on the data-pad before leaving the barracks.

* * *

Here we are, many months have passed since this chapter was uploaded and I'm finally getting around to re-editing the early chapters. Anyways, I'll be on my way, many more chapters to rework.

(03/12/20 02:58)


	3. Chapter 2: Crossing the Line

_**Chapter Two: Crossing the Line**_

**June 17th, 2568**

**Fort Keyes, Minerva, Lambda Rho System**

Gunfire flashed across Andrew's vision, painting the sky with vapor trails and tracer lines. His VISR flickered, recovering from the blast. Suddenly he was moving, no, being dragged. Several Marines pulled his body towards the compound gates. By the time he shook his head clear they were beyond the threshold.

"Spartan G199, the lone wolf hides among sheep," the Sergeant shouted.

"But the flock pays no mind," Andrew replied. The Marine shook his shoulders. It was a violent shaking, well beyond the strength the man should contain. Andrew's eyes snapped open. Reflexively he threw a punch, connecting with Caster's jaw. Andrew huffed, cold sweat trickling down his temple. Sam sprawled across the floor.

"What the fuck was that for," Caster shouted. Andrew came to his senses.

"Jesus fucking Christ Sammy boy! Why the fuck would you try to shake me awake like that," Andrew demanded.

"You were thrashing about old man," Sam retorted.

"Old man?! I'm a year older than you Sam," Andrew exclaimed.

"You also have more trauma than the rest of the team combined," Sam yelled back. Just then Thermer walked in from the bathroom.

The two Spartans were visibly irate with one another. "Cool it both of you, now! I want an explanation. Andrew, what the fuck is the malfunction," Thermer commanded.

"Well Boss, I was having a night terror. Sam tried to wake me up and caught a right cross in the process. He's a bit salty about it. Not my fault," Andrew replied to his team leader.

"Not your fault? WHO THE FUCK WAKES UP SWINGING LIKE THAT," Sam cried in protest.

"A WELL TRAINED SOLDIER, YOU FUCKING SHIT BIRD," Andrew yelled.

"ENOUGH! Sam, take a hike. I'll speak with Andrew. I can't do that with you being a shithead though," Thermer ordered. Sam stormed off. The sniper was pissed. He had every right to be, too. What he thought was helping his brother in arms was rewarded with a bruised jaw and a dismissal from their leader. Phoenix was a family and getting shit for being just that was more than enough to make anyone steamed. He slammed the barrack door shut behind him. Andrew sighed heavily and looked at Thermer somberly. Sweat rolled down his face and dripped from his chin. Thermer knew those sweats. All soldiers had them at one point or another. The terrors and fight response were dead giveaways.

"OUTCAST again? Andrew, this is the fourth night in a week. Talk to your therapist and get your dosage increased. I get that it's been stressful since we got stationed here, but I can't have you punching the wall or breaking the team's jaws everytime you startle awake," Thermer said.

"Jesse," Thermer stared him down, "Boss, I'm on the highest dose she's willing to put me on. Look, King and I are working on something that might help me. I'm putting OUTCAST down in writing. All of it. Every detail I can think of. Just give it some time. Please," Andrew asked.

"Fine. Get it done. It better work or I'm making you three man and giving second to King.

* * *

"What about your first field mission for them? What did they have you do," King asked as he sat down across from Andrew. The Spartan in question shifted as he tried to remember just what happened.

"This was the point of no return wasn't it? The point where you crossed the line," King asked. Andrew nodded in response, this was the primer. In truth, his guilt didn't just stem from the end of the operation. It built up slowly over the entire eleven months.

"I told you that I learned to make IEDs for them. My first mission was to ambush a supply caravan. I intercepted their orders prior and knew where they'd be going. I'll never forget it. The crimson lance of fire that blew through that first warthog. The one behind it flipped as it tried to avoid the wreckage. The gunner, his spine bent the wrong way. It was disturbing. The rest of the caravan stopped. I blew the second bomb, sent the rear guard toppling through the air like a leaf on the wind. The final warthog, well they didn't have time to react. I put so much lead down range. I hit the ammo box on the vehicle's LAAG. The gunner, there were so many holes. He was gone before he knew where I was. The passenger and driver weren't any better either. The drivers and passengers of the other vehicles all bailed and found cover, just like doctrine dictates. They knew where I was firing from, they didn't know there were more bombs. My ambush was perfectly planned. There were three meter embankments on either side of the road. I had the high ground. It also meant I could bury smaller anti-infantry devices on the other side of the road. I set those off too. After the return fire stopped I marched down into the kill box I had created. I put an extra bullet in any soldier I even thought could survive long enough for med-evac to arrive. The insurrection troopers who came with me were shocked at the efficiency of it all. The engagement lasted less than five minutes. When we got back to the compound I found out what our stolen goods were; food, radio equipment, tools, but nothing we needed. In my mind I took innocent lives for nothing. The commander commended me for my actions, stating it was the first time something like that had gone so smoothly. I wanted him dead."

Andrew remained silent. He stood up, walked over to his footlocker and retrieved his whiskey. He offered a glass to King who declined with wave of his hand. Andrew poured himself a double shot and poured one out on the metal floor for the men and women he had slaughtered that day. He downed his drink and returned the bottle and glass to their home. He resumed his story as he sat back down.

"I wanted that man dead, but not as bad as I wanted my handler dead. The fucking spook gave me high praise when I sent my report. Said that Chief Mendez and Lieutenant Commander Ambrose would be proud of my 'ruthless efficiency and use of natural barriers.' I like to think I knew the men who trained me well, I know they would have been appalled by my mission. This mission was not what I trained for and it was certainly not what Ambrose or Mendez wanted for the Spartan Three program. I still want to gut that slimy spook for that comment."

"How much of yourself did you have to sacrifice that day? How much did you give up in order to kill those troopers," King asked. His usual snark filled voice carried the weight of genuine concern. He didn't expect Andrew to sound so solemn today. Especially after hearing about what happened with Sam that morning. He had known Andrew for almost six years now. In all that time the Spartan-III had only two settings; asshole and combat. Andrew's voice was devoid of his normal jovial taunting. It held none of the calm neutrality of his commands nor the wrathful venom of his berserker episodes. It contained within itself a great sadness. A mortified, traumatized tone that sat right with neither of them.

" … I don't know." The hesitation, the three simple words, the dull look in Andrew's eyes. Nothing sat right with King. An alarm jarred both of them to the real world. Andrew stared at it for a brief moment. "Gotta go to therapy. We'll work on this later, aye?" With that said he went about saving the progress on the data-pad and left the barracks.

* * *

The medical wing of Fort Keyes was rather welcoming. Stark white walls were littered with holo-stills of beautiful vistas, empowering skylines and other imagery. Andrew knew why; it was to help remind soldiers of home, why there were out here in the far-flung corners of the universe, give them something to look forward to when they were discharged after combat took more than just their conscience.

Many of the patients here would think Andrew to be out of place. No injuries, no limp, not even a sniffle or cough. The staff already knew where he was headed though. He pushed into the psychiatric clinic and checked in. Almost immediately a door opened and a young woman called for him. He entered the room and by the time the door closed they were both seated; Andrew lounging comfortably in the large couch and her sitting with her legs crossed in an armchair. She hit a button on a data-pad and began to speak.

"Good afternoon Andrew. How have you been the last week? Please remember, the recording is for my ears only. No secrets." She placed her fingers in front of her face and swiped from right to left in a downward arc. The Spartan sign for a smile. The simple gesture meant many things; welcoming, understanding, trust, etc. She knew it would set him at ease even on his worst day.

For two hours they talked. Discussing his dreams, the project King was helping him with, punching Caster in the jaw, Thermer's reaction to it all. She for one was delighted to hear of his project and said that she would read it after they were done. He was happy to get approval from her instead of skepticism. She had tried for years to get him to open up. She also noted that she couldn't up his dosage, as he expected. By the time they finished Andrew's mood had shifted significantly. A slight smile tugged at his lip. He could honestly say that end the end of his visit that he was happy.


	4. Chapter 3: The Viper and The Wolf

"Text" = Speech

_"Text" = _ _Nonverbal Communication_

_'Text' = Thought_

_Text = O__nomatopoeia_

_**Chapter 3: The Viper and The Wolf**_

**June 18th, 2568**

**Location Unknown**

Andrew shifted, his personal SAW blended in with the foliage around him. He checked the local map, Sam and Jesse were in a tree forty meters behind his position and King hid in the foliage thirty meters ahead of him. The first radar ball pinged. Thermer broadcast on TEAMCOM.

"Three, eyes up. Hostiles two mikes out. Four, you got eyes?" Two green lights flashed on his HUD. "Wait until the third ball pings. Good call on modding those to work with Artemis, Two. Four, you know the drill, only if they need it."

Three green lights winked at him. Number two pinged, slowly their map filled with tactical data. Sam's voice filled their channel. "Objective in sight. Back of formation, cuffed. Two guards behind."

The third ball pinged. Thermer's voice came on the channel. "Phoenix Two, cleared to engage, Three smoke it out."

Andrew opened fire, cutting down the first three hostile targets in front of him. King popped a smoke grenade at the back of the formation. Not that King needed the cover, not with his active camouflage. The brown armored Spartan moved silently through the thick cloud of acrid smoke. He unholstered his M6H2, a tactical variant, and dropped the rear guards with the suppressed weapon. Turning the man in cuffs around, King's visor matched the man to their objective.

"Positive ID, Phoenix Three making exfil." Andrew fired into the enemy column, trying to maintain their confusion, but the smoke was clearing. King didn't have enough time. Two enemies were closing on him, rifles readied.

"Phoenix Four, tangos on Three, take a shot," Andrew shouted. Silence. No shot, nothing. Andrew sprang into action. The closest targets had no time to react. A blur of green, black and white launched from the underbrush right passed them. The camouflaged blur fired three suppressed shots from an M6C SOCOM. All three landed in his target, the phosphorous rounds sizzled and seared the wound channel. Andrew slid passed the falling body as a sniper cracked through the forest. He launched from the ground and tackled the other. _CLACK CLACK CLACK! _Gore spit up around the barrel of the Spartan's pistol. He stood up and immediately took fire from the remaining soldiers. Quickly he removed a can from one of his pouches, the can looked like an ordinary aerosol can apart from the fluorescent yellow strip Andrew had sprayed onto it.

"Phoenix One, pull!" He tossed the can into the air, then it went white. The C7 foaming explosive detonated as soon as Thermer's bullet punctured the can. The marksman watched as the enemies collapsed to the ground, each one a perforated mess. Andrew skittered across the forest path and slammed into a tree. Warnings flared on Thermer's HUD. Andrew's vitals showed five broken ribs, severe internal hemorrhaging, and a concussion.

"Objective Secured, Mission Accomplished," the voice came from the sky and the forest around them shimmered away. The War Games simulator returned to its normal black and blue grid pattern and released the restraint on Andrew's armor. Andrew got to his feet and recovered his weapons before walking up to Sam. In one swift move Andrew cracked Sam across the face. The Spartan-IV clattered to the floor. He didn't expect the punch. Sam stood up and ripped his helmet off. Andrew matched him.

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" Andrew stared down Sam. The Spartan-III's eyes seemed to glow like orbs of harlequin fire. Andrew stood mere centimeters from Sam.

"That was for hesitating. You nearly cost me my life, you nearly cost King his, and put the objective at excessive risk." Andrew didn't just say the words, he growled them.

"It was just a training sim, Andrew. Don't take it so serious." Sam's words filled with venom.

"Don't take it so seriously? Are you fucking kidding me? Or did you forget that we've been living under O.N.I's microscope for three fucking months because we failed to retrieve an informant? I don't give a shit if you could've lined them both up. I tell you to take the shot, you fucking take it. Your ego does not come before the mission objective. This ain't the fucking Wolfpack. I don't care how you guys did it back then. You're a Spartan now and you're under my command." Andrew snapped back. Sam's azure eyes filled with hate. Bringing up an old unit was taboo, but to insinuate that they put personal pride before duty was a low blow. Sam jumped at Andrew, his prosthetic arm making the first swing. Andrew simply fanned the attack away. Thermer stepped between them. His crimson visor seemed to glow an even deeper red.

"ENOUGH! I've had it up to here with you two. Sam, Andrew is right. You put a display of your skill above the safety of the target. This may be a sim, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't act like it's the real deal. Were this real, Andrew would have died about two minutes ago choking on the blood in his lungs. He would've died to ensure the rest of us didn't lose our careers to another O.N.I investigation. Andrew, I know you're pissed, but that gave you no right to bring up Wolfpack. You know that's taboo. Beyond that, the C7 was excessive. You could've used a thermite grenade to divert their attention. I get the example you're trying to set for Sam, but it wasn't the right call. Now, if the two of you still want to pummel each other you'll go strip your armor off and hit the octagon in the fitness center. May as well put on a show for the Marines. Dismissed."

* * *

Andrew stretched his arms over his head and rolled his shoulders. Barefoot and shirtless, he felt naked as he walked around the octagon. Sam mirrored his movements, with the exception of the prosthetic arm, which had been wrapped to help pad strikes with it. Most of the people who had crammed into the fitness center knew to the two Spartans to some degree. Much of the UNSC's Delta Forti personnel had been moved to Lambda Rho. Those who didn't know the Spartans marveled at the viper which covered Andrew's back. It's mouth agape, fangs bared, the ink almost seemed to come alive and stretch its massive maw as Andrew moved. Andrew's torso showed the cost of his service. Countless burns, puncture wounds and the two angry lines of the energy sword that nearly ended his life.

"I want a clean fight you two. Andrew I swear to God if you break his prosthetic I'm making you fix it." Andrew just huffed at his team leader. Thermer chose to act as ref, just to be sure they didn't kill each other in there. "Keep your head in check too, I don't want to peel you off him if a certain aug kicks in."

"Just shut up and get this party started." Andrew walked to the center to tap gloves with Caster. King hit the buzzer to signify the start of the fight. The two Spartans backed away from each other and began to prowl the octagon, looking for weaknesses in their opponent.

A full minute went by, the tension in the building was palpable. Andrew's fighting stance put his left foot forward. Sam knew better than to strike the left side of Andrew's body. Being the most damaged side, the veteran Spartan always placed it forward hoping the stress and pain would trigger the augmentations that put him in a bipolar rage. Sam knew the fight would end then and there if it happened.

"Hey Sam, if he breaks your robo arm do ya think you could get him to put a grapple launcher on there," King asked, growing bored of the staring contest.

"Shut it, Roof Korean," Sam growled in response. Andrew took advantage of the distraction. He cleared the distance and fired off two left side kicks, both landing just below Sam's guard. The impacts sounded like twin gunshots. Sam lashed out with a left cross, the bionic arm narrowly missing Andrew's nose.

"C'mon Peanut Boy, gotta be quicker than that," Andrew goaded.

Sam was faster than Andrew. Spartan-IVs were built to rely on superior mobility and technology. Andrew and the other SPARTAN-IIIs were much bulkier, built to tank more physical damage but at a cost to speed. If Andrew were to win this fight he'd have to taunt and tire Sam out before forcing the younger Spartan into submission. Sam kept swapping his stance. One foot in front, hop, other foot in front, rinse and repeat. Andrew waited. There, the opening. _SMACK! CRACK! THUMP! _Andrew fired a right side kick followed by a push kick while Sam was mid hop. Sam hit the mats hard. Andrew waited for Caster to stand back up. The two Spartans closed in on each other. A symphony of blows ensued. One after the other. To the Spartans each strike came in slow motion, their enhanced reaction time allowing them to tighten the impact zone before taking the hit. To the crowd that had gathered, everything was happening at breakneck speeds. Suddenly Andrew hit the mat, legs wide open. Sam dropped down in an attempt to deliver more blows before his opponent could recover.

_'Checkmate,' _Andrew thought. Quicker than a Kig-Yar snapping at fresh meat, Andrew had Sam in a figure four choke. _'No way out now, just tap kid.' _Sam didn't tap though, he started to stand up. They were close to the edge octagon. Andrew could almost feel the cage against his hair. _'I can work with this.' _Sam was on his feet now, it was Andrew's only shot. He relinquished the choke, extended his arms and shot a kick at Sam's gut as he fell. His hands hit the cage as he bounced off of Sam. Andrew rolled away and sprang up to his feet as fast as possible.

_BOOM! _Andrew hit the mat before he knew what hit him. Blood trickled down from his nose down his lips and chin. Andrew stood up slowly and reset his nose.

"What's wrong snake man? All bark no bite? C'mon old man," Sam taunted. Andrew pushed back against the augs. Gamma company's illegal augments made fighting smart difficult. The more stress, the more pain, the more they could shrug off but it came at a cost; control. Andrew's control was slipping, he had to finish this fast. He moved closer to Sam, who threw a crescent kick to push the veteran back. _'Fucker is just gonna keep trying to push me back. Gotta close the distance. Gotta finish this.' _Andrew pushed in again, dodging another kick. _'Close enough.' _Andrew snapped off three left footed side kicks, each landing higher than the last. Thigh, obliques, ribs; Sam caught Andrew's foot on the last kick.

"OFFICER ON DECK!" Thermer shouted; suddenly ramrod straight, salute held firm. Andrew yanked his leg back and snapped to attention. In fact, the entire fitness center was at attention. Spartan Commander Athena McKnight stood ringside.

"Phoenix, my office now. The rest of you clear out." The Spartan Commander was not pleased. The fitness center roared in unison, "Yes ma'am."

* * *

Phoenix stood in the Commander's office, each one standing as still as light post. McKnight sat behind her desk, an apple in hand.

"I have a number of questions and not enough time for you four to answer them. So, imagine my surprise when I hear that two of my Spartans are locked in a grudge match, beating the shit out of each other, another is playing referee and the fourth is running illegal ringside gambling using software made by one of the fighters over eight years ago." Her tone was one of righteous fury.

"Ma'am, I understand your concern, but this fight was a good thing. Since March, tensions in the team have been running high. Without a release it could have seriously damaged unit cohesion. I didn't know about King's gambling, I was worried about keeping them from seriously injuring each other." Thermer stepped forward as he offered an explanation.

"Did I give you permission to speak, Spartan?" Her response was one that needed no answer. Andrew eyed down the Commander. _'Fucking authority. This is bullshit. Just a fucking fight.'_

"Permission to speak freely ma'am," Andrew stepped forward this time. Maybe she'd go for a straightforward approach.

"Granted Spartan 199." Andrew grimaced at the misnomer.

"First and foremost ma'am, it's G199. Second, Spartan Thermer is right. This fight allowed Spartan Caster and I to settle some steam generated during training exercises today. I'm sure that you wouldn't want one of your best anti-insurgency units to falter in the field." McKnight stood up and marched straight up to Andrew.

"What is it you're trying to get at Spartan? Are you suggesting my frustrations are unwarranted? Are you suggesting that the poster boys of the UNSC acting like children in the schoolyard is acceptable behavior," she sneered.

"No ma'am, I'm simply suggesting that units as close as ours run into some difficulties. Should we find a way to settle these issues and hone our skills simultaneously, it can be beneficial to us," Andrew's complete disregard for her ire only aggravated her further. Andrew noticed King staring at his nose. He started to communicate nonverbally.

"_What?"_

"_It's still off kilter."_

"_Reset it, fucker." _

The Commander stepped back in shock as King stepped in front of Andrew and snapped the Spartan's nose back into place. "Thanks mate," King just nodded in reply.

"Seeing as your unit seems to be as stressed as it is I'm going to put you all on leave. Computer, how many months does this unit have built up in leave," McKnight asked.

"Approximately three months for Spartans Thermer, King and Caster. Spartan G199 has an abnormally large amount of leave time built up. Two years. It seems he only ever uses liberty, but never leave." The dumb AI said far too cheerily for Andrew.

"One month leave. Off world. Cheer up kiddos, you're going to Earth. Spartans Thermer, King and Caster, you are dismissed. I want to speak with your explosives expert for a while."

* * *

My intention with the re-edits is to make action and dialogue flow better. These older chapters can be difficult to read as entire conversations can happen within one paragraph. Hopefully I'll be able to fix that and catch any grammatical or spelling errors along the way.

(03/12/20 14:47)


	5. Chapter 4: No Place For No Hero

_**Chapter 4: No Place for No Hero**_

**June 23rd, 2568**

**Sydney, Australia, Earth, Sol System**

Andrew was bored, he had one month where he was supposed to relax and act like a civilian. The only problem being that he'd never taken leave, not once in his entire career. His duffle bag and rifle case sat in the passenger seat of the Scout Hog. His case was 9.6 kilos too light. This made the Spartan quite frustrated. His hand hovered over his data-pad. _'Fuck it.' _He pressed the button and a dial tone rang in his earpiece. "Hello," asked a familiar voice. "Commander McKnight, it's Andrew. Look, I'm here in Sydney and I have no fucking idea what I'm supposed to be doing. Can you help me out here. What do civilians do," Andrew asked.

The line was silent for almost a minute. She sighed deeply and responded with measured patience. "You're not supposed to do anything. You do what you want to do. Go to the beach. Go to a gun range. Do something with no real measurable value. I swear to God if I hear your voice before you touch down in Fort Keyes, I will shoot you. Am I clear?" Andrew pondered for a moment. "You're gonna have to do better than that if you want this data packet. You know the deal. You help me learn civilian life and turn the cheek on Phoenix's gambling. I give you parts of my files that O.N.I don't want you seeing and twenty percent of what we make. Don't worry, the channel is secure. Not even the almighty Eye of Odin knows what's said here." She sighed in defeat. Andrew and the rest of Phoenix were a thorn in her side that couldn't be shaken so easily. "Go camping in the outback." Andrew mulled it over. "Fair enough. Get something physical to write on and don't let anyone see it. This packet will delete itself in twenty four hours. Compare it to my public files and write down every discrepancy between the two. Believe what you will, Commander. Have a nice day. Please do give me some more suggestions in about six days." With that said he sent the packet and killed the channel. Andrew started the Hog's engine and pulled out of the motor pool.

* * *

Andrew stood in the bed of the scout hog, his right leg up on the rear support beam. His BR85N rested comfortably in the crook of his shoulder. From his perspective the desert went on forever. The summer sun hung low on the horizon. It was mostly quiet, mostly. A light crunch to his left alerted him of something's presence. Then a man cleared his throat. "Oi, whatcha doing up there? Huntin' season's over. Put the rifle down or we're gonna 'ave an issue." Andrew simply swept his sentinel scope across the horizon. "Your mongoose stopped moving forty minutes ago. You noticed me, determined I'm not a threat, and proceeded to creep up here. You're a wildlife ranger, not the stealthiest. Your hand is resting on an M6, some civvie variant. Trying to sneak up on a war vet is a good way to lose your brain. Relax, old Third Street here ain't loaded. I'm just eyeing the horizon. Looking for a good place to set up camp. Want some water, it's mighty warm today?" The ranger found Andrew's nonchalant tone highly unsettling. He stepped towards the hog and stepped up onto the bumper. Andrew lowered the rifle and grabbed two bottles of water from his cooler and handed one to the ranger.

"Vet huh. What branch?" Andrew pointed to the emblem on his shirt. "Spartan? Damn, you must be one tough bloke. How long?" Andrew turned to face the ranger. His polarized smart glasses left the Spartan's eyes to the ranger's imagination. "Classified. What about you? You serve," Andrew asked. "No. War ended before I could sign up. Nothing to fight after that." Andrew let out a loud huff. "Bullshit. I ain't stopped fighting." The ranger took a sip from his water. "What, you got somethin' to fight here on the Cradle? Out in the desert no less?" Andrew shrugged. "Not all battles happen in the field. I'm on leave though. Stationed in Lambda Rho." The two remained silent for some time. Andrew eventually hopped down off the bed of the vehicle and started to set up his camp. "You oughta get moving. Night's setting fast. I'm sure you've got a post to report to." The ranger nodded and hopped down from the Hog. "Stay safe mate, don't let the Taipans get ya."

* * *

June 29th, 2568

Sydney, Australia, Earth, Sol System

Andrew stood in the hotel lobby looking worse for wear. Five full days in the bush with no amenities left the Spartan caked in sweat and sand. Despite all this Andrew was a little disappointed to come back to civilization. Haphazardly driving the Hog through the desert was surprisingly fun. "Here's your room key, feel free to use the pool and gym. I would recommend a shower first though," a voice broke Andrew's train of thought. He took the key and sauntered to his room. Other guests gave him looks as he walked by. '_Clearly these people have never roughed it in the middle of nowhere.' _The hotel room was nice, it had a TV, desk, computer terminal, mini-fridge and wardrobe. He set the weapon case on the desk and sat on the bed to rifle through his clothing. He pulled out a plain PT shirt, boxers, socks and a pair of cargo shorts he had bought before going camping. With the last of his clean clothes in hand, Andrew walked into the spacious bathroom and started the shower.

After cleaning days of dirt from himself the Spartan took his duffle to the hotel's complimentary laundry room. _'The perks of having deep pockets. Hotels with free washers. Thank the Verse.' _He tossed his laundry in the washer and pulled out his data-pad. He knew King and Thermer were in America visiting family. Sam, well who the hell knew where he went. He shot a message at the team group chat. "How goes it? Just got back to Sydney from camping in the outback." He closed the chat and opened up the waypoint. The news seemed fairly optimistic for Earth. The defense fleet was stronger than ever and most of the orbital platforms destroyed in the waning days of the War had been rebuilt with the latest technology. Andrew opened one of his bookmarks, a page regarding news on Tribute, his homeworld. The new UNSC shipyards were working on refitting Strident and Anlace class frigates. Even sixteen years after the war ended they were still rebuilding the destroyed infrastructure of Casbah City. _'One day I'll visit. One day I'll go home.' _An ad came up on screen that caught his eye, a gun range with a killhouse. Andrew knew what he'd be doing tomorrow. Today was R&R.

* * *

June 30th, 2568

Sydney, Australia, Earth, Sol System

Andrew stepped into the lobby of the range, the displays caught his attention first. Civilian weapons of all shapes and sizes filled the walls. The counter displays were filled with optics, magazines, lasers and grips. Everything for an enthusiast to deck out their favorite firearms. While the Spartan looked around all eyes were on him. To be honest, he didn't realize that civilians found him physically imposing. He stood at 2.05 meters tall and most of his 117.48 kilo mass was defined muscle. His fireteam shirt did little to hide just how defined his core and upper arms were, his pants however hid a powerful set of legs. He could crush a man's arm with ease if he wanted to and everyone in the lobby could tell. He made his way to a counter and set his gun case on top. "I want to try your killhouse." The woman behind the counter grabbed a data-pad and brought up some digital forms for Andrew to fill out. "You ever been here before?" Andrew looked up from the pad. "Doubt it. Haven't visited the Cradle in over a decade." The clerk looked at Andrew's gun case. "Case is pretty big, mind if I open it to register your weapons with our system?" Andrew passed the pad back. "It's 9.6 kilos too light for my liking," he opened the case for the clerk and removed the Battle Rifle from its eggshell foam bed. "Had to leave Bertha back at base. I won't be using the scope. I also have an M6C SOCOM. Can I use exotic ammunition or will I need to buy a box?" The clerk eyed Andrew's Battle Rifle while he removed the SOCOM from his thigh holster. "Depends on the type of ammo. Incendiary is off the table. Can't dispose of it properly." Andrew sighed, "One box of twelve seven by forty mil then. Jacketed preferably." The clerk reached down into the counter and grabbed a box of 12.7x40mm ammo for the pistol. Few could handle the weapon's recoil effectively, even with the integrated suppressor. "The empty slot, that's for an M739 SAW. how'd you get your hands on one? Don't know many people who can get a license for that kinda firepower." Andrew looked up from his rifle, continuing to remove the sentinel scope without looking. "I'm a Spartan. I don't need a license." Clerk nearly dropped her data-pad. It was fairly common to have military personnel come through their doors, but this was the first time she had seen a Spartan in the flesh. A bonafide hero standing before her, she stammered her words. "Sorry, I didn't know. That explains the service tag in place of a surname here. So, do you have a name for all your weapons?" Andrew laughed on the inside. He was sure that the clerk had nearly shit herself. "Just the guns. Bertha is the SAW. My BR is named Third Street and that SOCOM is named Bunsen," seeing the confusion on the young woman's face he pointed to the box of 12.7x40mm incendiary ammo. "Had the barrel modified to withstand higher temps associated with phosphorus tipped rounds." The clerk looked from the ammo to Andrew and back. "Ain't that illegal in combat?" Andrew shrugged. "Not if I'm hitting materiel. We good here?" The clerk nodded and pointed towards the door to the killhouse.

As Andrew entered the large warehouse that contained the day's activities he couldn't help but revel in the smell of spent gunpowder. The killhouse itself was a large, prefab steel structure. He noted a few people in line, waiting for their chance to get in and make record times. Some watched the camera feeds from within the structure and others got their gear ready. He couldn't help but chuckle at the mix-matched group in front of him; camo patterns that didn't match, armorer patches, plate carriers covered in more pouches than needed, and some private security forces that he looked at with disdain. He set his rifle case down and removed two empty magazines for Bunsen. Loading them was almost therapeutic to him. Fifty targets, twelve shots with both weapons before reloading was a must. Two magazines for Third Street. He put a mag into Bunsen, racked the slide and dropped the mag to load a new round in. _Forty nine shots, guess I'll load a mag with one shot for Bunsen. Can't knock these targets with a throwing knife. _With his weapons loaded and ready to go Andrew removed his boonie hat and put on his smart glasses and headphones. With the two linked Andrew began flicking through his personal playlist. It was mostly flip music. He found the song he wanted and waited in line. The man in front of him turned around as the killhouse reset. "You're one big motherfucker. Been training to join up," he asked. Andrew didn't respond, instead just polarizing his lenses. "No matter, UNSC is just a bunch of imperialist bastards with shit training. Watch how Liang-Dortmund does it." Andrew gritted his teeth as the man ran into the killhouse. _'Fucking schmuck.' _

The green light came on, time for him to show these mooks how it's done. The idiot before him held the day's record, but Andrew knew the moron would've been killed halfway through. He blinked the music to play. A song called Shreddin' filled his ears, the heavy guitar and drums made him feel right at home. He entered the building, time to beat, two minutes and three seconds. He was shockingly quick on his feet and even faster to react. The first two rooms were cleared in a mere fifteen seconds. The third room required him to change magazines in his rifle. By the fifth room he had a definite lead over everyone, but his rifle was empty. He counted rounds now. Three more rooms and he had spent twenty four rounds. _'One in the chamber, mag is empty, drop it and slot the next.' _His single round mag went in with more force than needed. _'Last room.' _He rounded the corner. _'Contact left. Contact center, hostage situation. Caution.' CLACK CLACK! _The center target dropped first then the left. No damage to the hostage dummy. He left the room, one minute fifty seconds on the clock.

As he approached the waiting area Andrew was met with shocked stares. He removed the headphones and walked straight to his rifle case. The man from earlier approached him from behind. "Phoenix Zero Two, huh? What are you? Private military? Security forces? How the hell do you clear a killhouse that fast with exactly fifty shots?" Andrew turned around, a magazine for his SOCOM in hand. He slid around into place. "That's how Spartans do it, you ungrateful shit." The man took a step back as Andrew spoke, his baritone voice booming through the warehouse. Those that weren't watching sure as hell started now. The meager 1.7 meter man was shocked. A poster boy of the UNSC had just treated him like a second class citizen. Insulted him in public. "What was that, freak?" Andrew rolled his eyes, _'Freak, real original kid.' _He set the magazine down and walked up to the LDC security contractor. "I called you an ungrateful shit. If I'm not mistaken you called the UNSC 'imperialist bastards with shit training,' before running through the killhouse and making enough mistakes to kill an entire unit. You're not a hero. You're a dumbass glory hound who's going to get people killed." Andrew's words came down like a sledgehammer. The weekend warriors began to shy away, but the private military types started towards the irate Spartan. A few still held their weapons. "Try anything with those and I'll break 'em over your heads before you can get a shot off." They stopped dead in their tracks. "You people run through this thing making more mistakes than I care to count. You fuckers over there pretend to be soldiers in the freetime and you private military types cause more trouble for the government and UNSC than you're worth." Andrew walked back to the weapon case and finished loading his magazine. Metal scraped on metal and was followed by a loud smack. He stuffed the pistol into his holster and strapped the Battle Rifle into its foam bed. He closed the case and turned around. While the LDC contractor had shied away, the others had gotten closer. "This ain't no place for no hero, Spartan." Andrew put his hat back on, bringing the brim low over his brow. "I ain't no hero, glory hound." The Spartan marched towards the exit, his hand hanging dangerously close to his sidearm. His body language was enough, one move towards him and you were bound to be a statistic. He stopped in the range's lobby and bought a new knife, one with big enough straps to go around his gauntlet. _'I hate civilians.'_

* * *

Note: The Spartans of Fireteam Phoenix and any other named characters are part of a large community that I have been part of for the past five years. Each character has a fleshed out backstory. This story is meant to explore part of Andrew's past. I chose to make chapters three and four less focused on Andrew's past as an attempt to keep me from burning out and explore greater aspects of his personality.

The Spartans of Fireteam Phoenix are:

Jesse Thermer aka Phoenix One or Boss- Team Leader, Designated Marksman

Andrew-G199 aka Phoenix Two or Viper- Demolitions Expert, Squad Automatics, Interrogations and Cyber Intrusion

Brandon King aka Phoenix Three- Squad Automatic, Stealth Reconnaissance, Close Quarters Specialist

Samuel Caster aka Phoenix Four or Peanut Boy- Sniper, Reconnaissance

Phoenix is a direct action and intelligence retrieval team formed on Delta Forti III (Trost). Their tactics are uncanny and sometimes outright ridiculous, but no one gets results quite like them.


	6. Chapter 5: Flesh and Bone

_**Chapter 5: Flesh and Bone**_

**July 5th, 2568**

**Sydney, Australia, Earth, Sol System**

Andrew had fallen into a routine over the last few days. He'd wake up early, go to the beach for a 5k run, go swimming and come back to the hotel where he'd shower and prepare to go wander the city. He was walking down the hall back to his room when he noticed something off. Someone was standing at his door and banging on it with another person standing just behind them. _'Hand on your gun. Be wary of them.' _His inner voice commanded. To be fair, that part of his mind was seldom wrong. "Andrew open the damn door! You can't hide in there all day! Damnit let us in!" That voice, he talked to her every week. What the fuck was the Doc doing here? He eased his guard and approached faster. "Doc, what the hell are you doing here? Don't you have other patients in Lambda Rho that need your help?" Andrew looked down at the shorter woman in confusion, completely ignoring her companion. "Jesus Christ! Where the hell did you come from?" Andrew opened his room's door and invited them in. "I could ask you the same." She walked in and sat in the desk chair. Andrew sat on the bed and removed his boots. The other guest leaned against the desk.

"You didn't answer my question, Doc. What the hell are you doing here?" Andrew removed his sidearm from its holster, dropped the mag and racked the slide to extract the loaded round. "I came here to make sure you were doing okay. When I heard that you were sent on leave I was worried. You have never gone on leave and have no experience in civilian life. I had to demand that they let me come here." Andrew just looked at her cock-eyed. "I'm a Spartan. I adapt. I guess I'll answer your question now. I was at the beach. I've started to go running and then swimming in the morning. Then I go and explore the town." She returned the cock-eyed look. Andrew actually adapting to the civilian world was something she thought he'd have a hard time with. Before she could speak Andrew finally recognized the old man who came with her. "Doc Hartford? Don't you work at the military hospital in Dublin? Why are you here?" The man smiled at Andrew, happy his former patient recognized him after almost sixteen years. "Actually I'm retired now. Arrin asked me to meet her here and help talk with you. Please, call me James." Andrew pondered the concept. "Sorry, you'll always be Doc Hartford. So, what did you two want to talk about? Would you like to know what I've been up to while I've been on Earth?" He seemed eager to chat with someone. The other members of Phoenix had been less than talkative lately. Mostly due to family. As for Sam, again, who the hell really knew. His guests simply nodded. "Well, I spent five days camping in the outback. Then I spent a day relaxing. After that I went to a gun range, used their kill house scenario and nearly got in a fight with some private military dumbasses. After that I started my new routine." The two psychiatrists seemed to tense up when he brought up the altercation with the mercenaries. "Can we talk about the fight you almost got into," Hartford asked. Andrew synced his smart glasses to the rooms TV and played back the footage of what happened, from getting into line to walking out. "I'd say I did pretty good. I left before the situation got out of control, I didn't harm anyone and my points were completely valid. They were all idiots." Both shrinks were pleasantly surprised to see no one had been harmed.

"So, in simple terms, you've adjusted well to being away from base?" Andrew leaned back on the bed. "Yeah, I suppose so. I don't really like having no directions. I was built for war. All I've done is keep myself in shape and go shopping. I'm itching for a fight. I've been anticipating a criminal attacking me or some shit like that, but no, apparently I'm physically imposing to civvies. I'm getting bored and I still have about two weeks of leave." The Spartan spoke in a tone that implied annoyance yet no malice. "Have you considered paintballing or laser tag? There are clear objectives and you can fight people without harming them," Hartford suggested. "C'mon Doc Hartford, that would be cheating. I could take the Hog back out to the desert and just drive around like a jackass. That was pretty fun. Hmmm. I'm gonna go take a shower, do you two wanna come get lunch with me afterwards?"

The diner Andrew picked was one that he had started to frequent during his time in Sydney. It had good sightlines, several points of egress, and the food was better than anything the mess hall served or King cooked. Hartford and Arrin both agreed with his last point. Andrew's outfit was excessively casual compared to his other clothing; a long sleeve t-shirt, cargo shorts, hiking boots and his boonie hat. His laid-back attitude was starting to worry Arrin,but he couldn't hide the fact that every time someone entered the building he would check for danger. Still his usual self. Hartford broke the silence. "So, Andrew, what's with the ink? Why vipers?" He knew someone would ask that. "It goes back to my first mission; eleven months of infiltration, information retrieval and elimination. My target called me a snake in the grass. Vipers fit the theme of the mission. The small one on my cheek I got right after the mission. The one on my back, I added to it after every deployment until it was done." Hartford was visibly confused. He was no herpetologist. "Vipers use neurotoxic venom to kill. It's slow and shuts down vital systems to kill. Taking down an insurrection over eleven months by exposing weaknesses fits. Slow, painful, but always deadly." Hartford just nodded. Arrin already knew the story of his tattoos. To her it was almost odd that the Spartan had embraced the role Section Three created for him. It certainly didn't fit with his disdain for authority.

Andrew picked at his pasta salad. He had taken an immediate liking to the tart flavor and variety of textures, but making conversation seemed to lessen his appetite. "I'll presume that the orange shield is your unit then?" Hartford didn't seem to notice Andrew's mood, rather uncharacteristically. "Yeah, Fireteam Phoenix. Direct action, information retrieval and demolitions; we keep it unconventional and rather risky. We're the best at what we do." Andrew's tone was dry. "So, how's the water down at the beach?" Arrin spoke up before Hartford could say anything else. She knew that Andrew no longer wanted to talk about his service, and hopefully Hartford would pick up on it. "It's rather pleasant. Despite the stinging from the salt, I like it. The currents give me some resistance and the temperature isn't too cold nor is it particularly warm. It's perfect right after my morning runs." His tone was more jovial this time around. "Maybe next time I get leave I'll see if I can visit Tribute. I hear they're working on rebuilding Casbah. Maybe I'll come back here, I don't know." This excited Arrin, Andrew was finally thinking about something other than his service. He was starting to accept that there was something other than fighting to be done. That he could go elsewhere and be fine not being in his armor. They continued to talk about places he'd like to visit until they left. As it turns out, the Spartan had a severe case of wanderlust.

* * *

Not long after lunch Hartford left Arrin and Andrew. He said something about heading back to Ireland, but Andrew hadn't really paid close attention. The man had irritated the Spartan all day with questions about his time in the military. Andrew didn't want to talk about that though and it seemed that Arrin always swooped in to change the subject at just the right time. It was presently late in the evening. The Spartan was escorting the woman back to her hotel. He was not pleased by the area it was located in, a place less savory than many of the holes he had been deployed to. She had told him it wasn't necessary to escort her, but he wouldn't have it. He would soon be glad he ignored her.

A man came stumbling down the street. Something was off about it, like there was too much thought in it to be natural. Andrew went on the defensive. "Arrin, get behind me. Now," he punctuated the statement by stiff arming her. This was the first time he used her real name and it scared her. They continued walking forward. The suspicious man's right arm hung by his side, his hand obviously hiding something in the sleeve of his light jacket. Suddenly the man's arm jerked down and a knife appeared in his hand. "Your money and everything in the bags. Don't make me do something you'll regret." The man's voice was hoarse, like he had been swallowing sandpaper. "You're welcome to try something, but I suggest you back off right now." Andrew's baritone voice carried down the otherwise empty side street. "Tough guy huh? This ain't no place for no hero." The man lunged at Andrew. The Spartan had one hand behind himself guarding the psychiatrist and the other low to maintain balance. He backpedaled a few paces to dodge the attack. Even with his augments he was moving too slow at the moment. Trying to guard her and lacking his armor put him at a quarter of the speed he wanted to move at. "Arrin, I need my arm to fight. Whatever happens, stay behind me. Clear?" He didn't need to hear an answer. He knew that she understood why he wanted her there. He was her wall, her shield, and he'd stay like that until one of the two fighters was down.

Even though the Spartan decided that he would slow down and enjoy the fight, he couldn't help but fall into his usual combat style. Andrew practically lived by the phrase "the best defense is an overwhelming offense," and in combat it truly showed. His first attack was a series of sidekicks, much like the ones he fired at Sam in the octagon. The assailant was surprisingly agile and jumped out of the way fairly quick. He took a slash at Andrew with the knife. The Spartan blocked the strike and pinned the man's arm, bringing his right knee up and breaking the the appendage over it. The would-be mugger cried out in anguish. Andrew repositioned, still holding the limp, broken arm. Using his right hand the Spartan lifted the man into the air by the face and spiked him into the ground. The man was out cold. Andrew turned to Arrin, "We're safe. Everything is fine." The psychiatrist gasped as she noticed Andrew's non-dominant arm. "You're bleeding! What do we do?" Andrew looked at his arm. The cut was deep. _'Guess I didn't block that one well enough. Need to train with someone else for this situation later.' _The Spartan sighed and removed his shirt. "Come here and tie this around my arm about five centimeters above the cut. Single knot. I need you to stay calm." She silently obliged. Andrew removed a spare magazine from his holster. "Now, place this on the knot and wrap the loose ends around it. Then twist until the bleeding stops. After that secure the loose ends so that it doesn't come undone." Andrew rifled through her handbag and removed a marker and a small can. "Those aren't mine." She stated bluntly. Andrew nodded and looked at her, "I know, I put them there. I like to be prepared. Alright you can secure the loose ends now." He looked at the clock on his smart glasses and marked the tourniquet. He pulled a pin from the top of the can and flicked the nozzle up. Pushing the end of into the wound he began to squeeze the lever on the opposite side. The Spartan hissed as biofoam filled his lacerated arm. "Call EMS. Get two wagons and police down here."

* * *

Andrew sat on the edge of the hospital bed. The fresh bandage overtop his latest wound a reminder that the pleasant surprise earlier in the day had turned quite sour. He had gotten his shirt and magazine back after the makeshift tourniquet was removed. Arrin sat in a chair nearby staring at his bandaged arm. The silence was deafening. He was the first to break it. "Doc, I'm fine. I've been closer to death before." She looked up just in time to catch him sign a Spartan smile. "It's not fine, you're injured. You shouldn't have taken that risk. You are flesh and bone and blood. You don't have your armor here. I know you could've moved far faster. You could've just shot him." Andrew sighed, this was becoming far too common for his liking. "Fights are easy to move passed mentally. You see it, you have a bit of initial shock, but you move on. A shooting, not so much. There are more senses involved, even for a witness. You see the flash and gore. You smell the gunpowder and blood. You hear the shot and the scream followed by unbearable silence broken by moans and groans. It etches itself into your mind. You don't need that. I swore and oath to protect Earth, all her colonies and the citizens of them no matter the cost. A little blood is nothing compared to what I'm prepared to give."

As Andrew finished his monologue there was a knock at the door. A man in a suit entered and handed Andrew his card. It was an investigator with SPD. He also returned the Spartan's smart glasses. "I would like to inform you that your assailant will live. His arm is fractured in three places, his skull is fractured and he has three broken ribs with severe contusions up and down his back. He'll be going to trial for attempted armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon thanks to the footage you provided. I also brought your discharge papers from your doctor. So, tell me, what kind of man fights a man with a knife with nothing but his fists?" Andrew stood up and accepted the discharge papers. "You already know. You've got my name on record. Normal people don't put down their service tag as their last name." The investigator gave Andrew a curt nod. "You two have a nice night. Try to stay out of trouble while you're here." With that the man left. Andrew stood up and collected his possessions. "C'mon, we're getting a cab to my hotel. Then we're taking the 'hog to yours. We'll check you out and I'll pay for you to get a room at mine. I'm not letting you stay in that area after what happened tonight." She opened her mouth to protest only to catch a look from Andrew that gave her all she needed to know. It was going to happen whether she wanted to or not. She stood up and followed him out.

* * *

Alright, chapters 5 and 6 have taken a while to create. Six will be up tomorrow but I need to get to work. This is the last Earth based chapter. We're going back to the main story.


	7. Chapter 6: Hellfire

_**Chapter 6: Hellfire**_

**July 27th, 2568**

**Fort Keyes, Minerva, Lambda Rho System**

Phoenix stood once more in their Commander's office. Her steely gaze swept over them silently. Their collective posture could rival the stiffness of a flagpole. Finally after what seemed like minutes she broke the silence. "At ease Spartans. I'm glad to see Phoenix here in mostly one piece. I trust your leave was relaxing and eventful." The four Spartans nodded in unison. "Good. I certainly know Spartan G199 had an interesting time in Sydney. Isn't that right? Must have if I got a police report, an injury report from a hospital and a note from Oceana Military Spaceport stating that you're fit for duty." All eyes were on Andrew. "Show me," McKnight commanded. Andrew pulled his left sleeve up, displaying the fresh fifteen centimeter scar for all. "I didn't read the police report, so do enlighten us on how this happened." Andrew pushed his sleeve down and shifted his weight.

"Alright, Commander and chucklefucks listen up. It happened the day my shrink showed up at my hotel room," he started. His tone shifting from sarcasm to irritation as he mentioned how the morning started, clearly aiming his ire at McKnight. "So, I was a bit surprised when both my former and current shrinks were banging on my door. I was just getting back from some PT at the beach. We went in and talked for a little bit before I showered and then we all went to lunch. Later that evening after Doc Hartford left, I walked the Doc back to her hotel. Or rather tried to. We ended up not getting there because some dipshit tried to mug us. I decided not to scar the Doc's psyche and fight rather than shoot. I took it slower than normal and that's why I got cut. You should've seen it though. I spiked him into the duracrete like he was nothing. I made it out with the cut and minimal blood loss. He's still alive too. A broken arm, three fractured ribs, fractured skull, severe contusions and concussion. My smart glasses caught it all." McKnight glared at him for the lack of decorum, naturally he ignored it. "Is that all you wanted Commander? We have some unpacking to do." She stood up and tapped a command on her desk. "As a matter of fact, no. You'll be unpacking what you need for immediate combat purposes. You're going to redo the simulation that caused your little fight. I'll be making some adjustments so that King won't slip away so easily. I expect all of you to make it out 'alive.' No unnecessary C7. Spartan G199, I trust you'll go full speed today. I expect you in the War Games simulator yesterday Spartans! Double time! Let's move!"

* * *

Andrew practically spooned Bertha as he hid in his firing position. Phoenix was right back where they were just over a month ago. His grass, pepper and white Viper class MJOLNIR was nearly invisible in the underbrush. "Did you really need to get a second knife Andrew," Sam questioned over TEAMCOM. He heard the fuss Andrew had made with the armor techs about getting the weapon mounted to his left gauntlet. "Yes, as a matter of fact I did. You can never have too many options," Andrew responded to his Scout-clad teammate. "Keep it professional you two. Commander is watching this time. I mean it," Thermer barked over the channel. Two green acknowledgement lights winked on Thermer's HUD. The first radar ball pinged. "Eyes on targets. Oh-Three get ready," Sam chimed in. Another ping. "Same formation. Should be easy to yoink him," Sam stated. A third ping. Thermer cut in, "Green light, Oh-Two." Andrew's opening shots were all the confirmation the team needed. King popped a smoke grenade and made his move reserving his active camo for if he needed to run and hide. "Objective secure, Oh-Three moving to extraction point."

Andrew saw two innies try to take after King again. "Oh-Four, take the far target, I've got his buddy. Oh-One cover me." Sam didn't hesitate this time. The crack of his round's impact was the first thing anyone noticed, the second was the grapefruit sized exit wound. Andrew had already leapt from cover, securing his SAW on the back of his waist. The closest insurrectionist didn't get the same treatment as last time. He instead vaulted over the man and shouted at his target. In a flash Andrew's thrusters closed the gap and the Spartan swung his right arm wide from left to right. His target dropped clutching the gash in his neck. Andrew resheathed the knife under his left wrist and turned with a black and red canister in hand. "Dropping hellfire. The rest are yours Overwatch. Moving to support Oh-Three." The grenade left his hand and promptly showered its surroundings in thermite. Andrew ducked into the forest leaving the screams and gunfire behind him.

King wasn't too far from the path, making it easy for Andrew to find him. The two Spartans stayed tucked into the underbrush. King had found McKnight's changes. _"Two support patrols. I haven't been seen. They're alert," _King signed to Andrew. The brown armored Spartan held the hostage down in an attempt to keep them unseen. _"Stay here. I'll divert them. Run for exfil on my signal," _Andrew signed back. King cocked his head to the side in a silent question. Andrew simply responded with a Spartan smile and walked away. King shook his head in defeat, _'We are gonna lose,' _was his singular thought.

While Andrew preferred to be an overwhelming presence in combat, he could still be stealthy when needed. Pulsing his ARTEMIS tracker the Spartan managed to get a lock on the patrols' secondary weapons. _'They are so gonna patch that after this.' _He had managed to lure the two patrols away from King and deeper into the forest. Now was his chance. The bark of his SAW was all King needed to hear. While Andrew gunned down the innies King had a clear shot straight to their ride out. Andrew's rounds ripped the bark off trees and spat wood chips across the forest floor. "Your ass is grass and it's time to mow the fucking lawn!" The Spartan was right at home. Suppressing his targets and spewing vulgar one liners was something he loved about the job. "Oh-Three arriving at exfil. Objective secured," King affirmed over TEAMCOM. The simulation fizzled out leaving all four in an empty room. A slow clap filled the air. "Congratulations Phoenix. You managed not to kill each other or the objective. King and Andrew handled my little twist well I'd say. Communication was excellent," McKnight stood at the entrance to the War Games simulator seemingly pleased with their work. "No explosives either, I'm impressed."

* * *

"So lemme get this straight, your shrink randomly shows up at your door with the guy who used to be your shrink and you just to take them to lunch?" Sam was a little beyond confused. "Yep. We went out for an afternoon of complete nothing afterwards. Just explored the city." Andrew wasn't sure why Sam had such a hard time processing this. "What I wanna know is why the Viper, Bane of Scumbags, didn't just shoot the bastard. Why would you take it slow? Why not just kill him," King questioned. "Because there's more to protecting a civilian than physical trauma. To her, Andrew's stories are just that. They aren't as real to her because she wasn't there. If he shot or killed the man she wouldn't be the same. Probably wouldn't be able to do her job. As it is she's not all there after seeing him get injured," Thermer interjected. Andrew let out a slow sarcastic clap. "Jesse Thermer, the great philosopher everyone. All snark aside, he's right. I didn't want to protect her from one kind of harm and subject her to another." Thermer shot a glare at Andrew for that one. Andrew shrugged it off.

The team was presently in the Spartan division's armory. Each of them were tweaking their gear as needed. Andrew was making some modifications to Bertha that under normal circumstances would be unsanctioned. He wanted to alter the gas system so that he could switch between two rates of fire, fast and faster. The workbench's analysis only told him one thing, the weapon would likely jam if he did so. "Mother fucker." Andrew pieced Bertha back together, taking time to carefully fit each part perfectly in their battle-scarred casing. "What's wrong," King asked hesitantly. "I can't do what I wanted to her. I wanted to mod the gas system so that I'd be able to switch from fast to 'fuck your cover' fast. Turns out she'd only jam up in the first few shots." Andrew was obviously frustrated by Bertha's insistence on remaining unmodified. "Why would you need that? You can already dump your drum in just under five seconds. Why would you need it any faster," Sam interjected. "More corpses for Ares. More lead for the lead wall," Andrew said jokingly. "Judging from how fast that thing already fires, you'd probably melt the barrel rather quickly. Why not just mod Bunsen? Make it burst fire," Thermer asked. "One, I can't do that to a SOCOM, much less a regular M6C. Two, that would defeat the purpose of Bunsen. Three, no I will not upgrade to the M6H2. I like the weight of the C. More metal than polymer." Andrew came off blunter than he meant to.

_Click! _Bertha's last component snapped into place. Andrew shouldered the weapon and swept the room. Satisfied he set her down on the bench and got to work cleaning his Battle Rifle. King nudged Andrew and signed to him, _"Work on project later? Been over a month." _Andrew simply nodded in response.

* * *

"So, tell me about the young innie you befriended. I know that part of why this mission left you messed up has to do with him." King decided to go for a tough one this time. Andrew was visibly uncomfortable already. _'Fucker. You really had to go there. Guess it only makes sense.'_

"As I said before, the kid was just that; a kid with a heart bigger than his brain. He wanted peace, he hoped that if they put up a fight the UNSC and UEG would just give up. He figured they'd just back down. With the war having just ended he would've probably been right, we're the colony not an agricultural one. With most of human space in shambles, agri-colonies were pretty important in the immediate post war years. You can't rebuild worlds with a starving workforce." Andrew caught the tangent before it went further. "You get the picture though. He was an idealistic kinda person. He just wanted what was best for the people of his homeworld. He worked in communication mostly, spent a lot of time working on captured radio equipment. He did come into combat a few times. I could tell it took a piece of him each time. He wouldn't be as cheery or upbeat. I told him he should just leave, go back to his simple life. He always argued that he had to be the change he wanted. Fucking hell was he stubborn. He was gentle too. The way he treated the local children, it showed how much he really cared. Maybe it was because he wasn't much older than them."

"So he was charismatic, kind and compassionate. How did you two become friends?" King could see the pain in Andrew's eyes. It was the kind of pain that only came from years of pushing the ugly truth deep into the recesses of one's mind. Andrew's normally vibrant harlequin eyes were dull and grim.

"He trusted me. Gave me a chance. Believe it or not, but he was the first person in my life to show me true kindness. Camp Currahee was hell. Competitive attitudes were promoted even within fireteams. We didn't know kindness. Only war," Andrew sighed as he finished his sentence. It took him a moment to start up again. "In a way, I guess I latched on to the first source of goodwill I found in a human. Which is ironic because as the months went by I continuously tried to get him to get the hell out of Dodge. Up until I arrived on New Harmony I'd never had a real friend. After the end of the op, I refused to open up to anyone for years. I was a dealer of death. O.N.I's personal reaper. I shut down every emotion I deemed unnecessary after the deed was done. That, however, is a story for a different day. I think I'm done for now."

* * *

Okay, we are back in the Lambda Rho System. This is the part where i dump some lore and explainations. This story is based on a community that I've been part of for several years. Operation: OUTCAST was started before the community chose to reboot some lore and streamline. As such this will be considered an AU to the community and will feature some concepts that were rejected. One of these will be featured in chapter eight. Speaking of chapter eight it may be a while before that comes out. I have yet to finish chapter seven and do some research for the aforementioned concept. Sorry if the chapter was a little all over the place, but I wanted to tackle multiple things here.


	8. Chapter 7: No Holds Barred

_**Chapter 7: No Holds Barred**_

**July 30th, 2568**

**Fort Keyes, Minerva, Lambda Rho System**

The pings of metal hitting metal filled the CQC arena. Knives flashed in the bright light as two Spartans fought; one green and black, the other brown and green. Sparks flashed into existence as the knives scraped off titanium plating. To outside observers every motion was blindingly fast, but the Spartans saw everything at a snail's pace. Some would swear that the two combatants were actually trying to kill one another, but Andrew and King knew the truth and the smiles behind their visors said it all. Fun wasn't something people responsible for defending humanity often considered, but this was amusing. An all out fight, only lethal strikes were banned. The two CQB specialists loved the thrill of getting in close and personal. Andrew felt it more civilized. It gave his foe the benefit of knowing who struck them down. King was a touch sadistic and often did it just to demoralize and scare his enemies.

The Spartans' knives collided again, the pieces of steel sang as they scraped off one another. The blades' ringing filled the air. King took a slash at Andrew who flared his thrusters, pushing him backwards. Andrew dropped low and tossed his knife at King before sprinting towards his foe. The brown clad Spartan knocked the knife into the air above him just in time for Andrew to jump and plant a boot in King's chest. Using his teammate as a springboard Andrew soared into the air, catching the knife in his left hand and drawing his second knife with the right as he landed. "So you can teach an old dog new tricks," King laughed as he stood back up. "Old? You're one to talk. You're six years older than me."

Andrew dropped his guard, almost inviting King to strike. King closed the gap in the blink of an eye. Left jab, right cross, left side kick. Andrew couldn't raise his guard in time to stop the punches, but he did block the kick. The right cross left a new scratch in his helmet. That was fine by Andrew, the more scrapes the more stories he had to tell. He pushed King away, just enough to get an arm's length between them. Now it was his turn. He feigned a right cross, pulling it at the last second to fire off a push kick. He followed with a crescent kick that again, he intentionally missed. Using the kick's momentum he hopped into the air flipping and firing another kick with his right leg, this time aiming to hit. He flared the thrusters on his leg at the last second to get as much speed and force as he could. King had his guard back up in time to save his head from the jet powered kick, but the impact still sent him stumbling. Andrew's HUD flashed a red warning briefly. "That was a little excessive, but badass nonetheless."

"Spartan-G199 report to base medical for an emergency session. Say again, Spartan-G199 report to base medical for emergency session." The two Spartans looked at each other confusedly. "I guess it's a draw. Suppose we should stop anyway, we've been at it over an hour. See you in the barracks King."

* * *

Andrew stepped into Arrin's office and was immediately aggravated. "What the hell are they doing here?" He waved his arm in the direction of his team. He hadn't even removed his helmet since leaving the CQC arena. "Andrew, please come take a seat. I'll explain everything in a moment." The Spartan took a few steps in and closed the door. "Andrew, why are you limping," Arrin asked softly. Andrew twisted his helmet and pulled up, the air tight seal hissing as he removed it. "I'm fine Doc. Now will you tell me why in the hell they are here," he asked venomously. "Not until you tell me what happened to your leg." He hated when she got stubborn. "I am fine," he said through gritted teeth. "No you-" Thermer cut her off. "Spartan Gamma One Niner Niner, report status of right leg. That's an order." Andrew snapped to attention. "Sir, yes Sir," that was sure to get tick Jesse off. "Right leg has suffered a torn calf and pulled quadricep. Injury sustained during Rogue Spartan Scenario with Spartan King, Sir." Andrew remained stiff as a rod. King cut in, "He fired a thruster enhanced kick at my dome. I blocked it. I'm pretty sure he ignored the HUD warning." Thermer nodded an acknowledgement at King. "At ease Spartan. Next time you call me 'Sir' I'll punch you in the throat. Now, your doctor brought us all here to address your self sacrificial tendencies." Jesse had Andrew's full attention now, and a great deal of his ire too. Andrew marched up to his unarmored leader and stared down into his eyes. "I think you mean training, _boss._" Andrew still held on to his helmet; the hefty piece of armor trembled slightly as his grip tightened. Arrin moved to where Andrew stood and grabbed him by the elbow in an attempt to calm him. That was not what happened.

"Y'all wanna talk about why I throw myself at the enemy? Why I act like minor injuries are nothing more than an inconvenience? Fine. Let's talk about Project Chrysanthemum. The Project is what created the SPARTAN-IIIs. It wasn't just our augs, it was the training too. The goal of Chrysanthemum was to create a new generation of easily produced, disposable super soldiers. We had a wider gene pool than the Spartan-IIs. We had a faster training program. Gamma Company was given augments that cause bipolar anger in stressful situations. Alpha Company only had a handful of Cat Twos. The rest? Fucking dead on their first major deployment. Here's the real shock for you. I entered training in '44. I was born in '39. I was deployed at thirteen years of age. Those files that say I've spent time in cryo are a fabrication to save O.N.I from having to admit that the Spartan-IIs and SPARTAN-IIIs are child soldiers!" The fire in Andrew's eyes burned intensely as he looked around the room. Arrin had retreated from the irate Spartan. King was staring at the ground and Sam was twiddling his thumbs. Thermer was looking right at Andrew. "You know how I say I'm going to get my Smoothers everytime we come back from combat? That's me saying 'hey, I'm gonna go get drugged so I don't think you're the enemy and fucking murder you.' My generation of Spartans was made to die. We were taught to die fighting. I can't help it." This time the hulking mass of grass and pepper armor had locked eyes with his leader. No one else said a thing. Andrew huffed and left the room.

* * *

"Shadow box simulation. Subject Gamma One Niner Niner Foxtrot Papa Zero Two. Safety protocols low." Andrew stood in the wargames simulator alone. He paced in circles as the simulation established around him. This wasn't the first time he'd run this sim. It was a bit unsettling the first time around, but by now it almost seemed normal. _'Warehouse. Not bad as far as settings go.' _Finally his foe materialised. The hardlight projection took form, a mirror image of Andrew. The Spartan raised his guard.

The construct ran straight at Andrew, foregoing all caution. The Spartan liked to start off strong, but this _thing, _this copy of him had started at full bore. It was like the computer chose to start him off on the defensive. That was fine by him, more fuel for the fire that raged in his mind. More reason to hit harder, fight recklessly and wear himself ragged. _'Let's go fucker. Show me what you got.' _The construct's flurry of strikes continued, Andrew dodging what he could and tanking the rest of the hits. A slight opening came forth and the enraged Spartan took it, delivering a heavy punch where the thing's intestines should start. It staggered. _WHOOSH! _A thruster enhanced kick sent it tumbling. Andrew walked to it slowly. The construct got to its knees before Andrew's foot came down in a powerful axe kick. It's head bounced off the floor with a sickening slam.

This time it didn't try to stand up, instead it went for his legs. The Spartan toppled over. In the struggle to break free he managed to boot his shadow in the head a few times. They were nothing more than rabbit kicks to him. To the construct they were enough to let the Spartan go and assume a defensive stance. Andrew fired his thrusters sliding back three meters, just enough for him to get back up unimpeded. He moved forward, his guard high, Andrew was on the offensive again. He fired shot after shot as soon as he was in striking range. Left jab, right cross, left elbow, spin, right elbow. The last strike came down heavy. Unfortunately for the Spartan the construct ducked, allowing Andrew to roll over its back. _'Tricky little fucker. Then again, I can't expect much less from myself.' _He was right, the truth behind the Shadow Box sim was that it took combat data from a Spartan's neural link and used it to create a near perfect copy. _'The second knife. It hasn't copied that yet. Let's get this party rolling.' _Andrew yanked the new knife from its sheath, slashing wildly in the act. At the zenith of his arm's arc he flicked the knife around, its blade now under his little finger. Another, more controlled swipe. Flick, swipe again, stab. Andrew's movements with the weapon were oddly graceful, it almost seemed like a dance. His feet shifted as his arm swung outwards. His breaths paced to the timing of his strikes. His partner dipped, ducked and wove to Andrew's rhythm. That was until he pulled the second knife.

Andrew's arm came around in a right hook that forced the construct backwards. The Spartan took advantage and pulled the other knife from the left side of his chestplate. Just as the shadow leaned forwards once more Andrew thrust the left-handed knife into its throat. Rather, he would have, had the construct not faded away. Andrew stumbled a meter as he tried to stop his momentum. "Mother fucker! What the hell?!" He knew that the base's AI cut the sim short. "Spartan G199, you are needed in briefing immediately." Andrew brushed the order off. "You could've warned me before you cut the sim." The AI paused, something the seasoned Spartan found unnerving. "I'll try to remember that." Definitely more than unnerving.

* * *

Definitely not the strongest chapter thus far. A little short compared to others too. The next one will have much more content and will delve a little further into the M rating the story holds.


	9. Chapter 8: Höllenhund

_**Chapter 8: Höllenhund**_

**August 23rd, 2568**

**Fort Keyes, Minerva, Lambda Rho System**

Andrew stood in the back of the scout hog. King sat next to him. The reconnaissance vehicle rolled slowly through the base slowly. Gore, mud, plant material, carbon scoring, bullet holes and duracrete covered almost every square centimeter of it. The four Spartans were eerily silent. The mood between them was one of somber exhaustion. Debrief was going to be rough. The walk there would be worse. The hog stopped suddenly. Andrew hadn't noticed the time pass. They were at the vehicle depot now. Andrew hopped down from the vehicle and came visor to face with an Army Captain. "Move it Captain. I've got a debrief to attend." Andrew had no patience left. Not after the last three and a half weeks. "Spartan, what happened to Charlie-Five." Andrew pushed passed the Captain. "You better get to hanger three. Charlie-Five deserves a send off from their Captain. You should bring the rest of the Company while you're at it. Better be good with words."

* * *

"Can anyone explain to me what happened during your mission. This was a simple search and rescue." McKnight chose to debrief Phoenix personally. The unit was MIA for two and a half weeks. No comm signals, no tracking tags. Nothing. There was a long silence. "Tell me Commander, are you familiar with the Book of Revelation?" Andrew caught her off guard, "Chapter six, verse eight. 'And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.' We saw death, and Hell followed it." McKnight stared at him for a moment. Her mouth slightly agape.

Jesse cut in. "Ma'am. We spent a week patrolling the area around Charlie-Five's last known coordinates. There were no signs of hostile activity. The signal that the missing platoon had picked up was interference from a group of old Covie jammers. They were used during the glassing of New Alexandria to isolate surviving UNSC units. The village they were situated in was a complete deadzone. It was also where we found Charlie-Five." McKnight remained silent. Andrew picked up where Thermer left off. "They were on display when we got there. Tied to posts planted in the ground. The things that had been done to them … even I don't go that far. Some of them had been mutilated, blood eagled. The entire platoon was dead. The ambush happened soon after." Andrew stopped speaking. His voice trailed off in the otherwise silent room.

* * *

**August 6th**

"Contact rear! Find cover!" Andrew took the first round, his shields flaring. First the jammers. Then the display. Now an ambush. This op was going to shit fast. Bertha belched lead, the muzzle flash painting Andrew's visor with amber light.

* * *

King spoke up. "We started taking fire from our seven. Andrew was the first to get hit. He provided cover fire while we found a good fighting position somewhere in the village. The fight lasted for two weeks. Before you ask, the village was empty Ma'am. No civilian presence. Also, no, we cannot account for every round fired. We ran out of ammo."

* * *

**August 7th**

"Sam, you got eyes on them?" Thermer looked out the window towards the roof Sam was on. "Negative boss. They're hiding in the forest. I don't see shit." Thermer checked his comms again. Still not working. _'Come on Andrew hurry up and find those jammers.' _Gunfire sounded off towards Andrew and King's position. The bark of Andrew's battle rifle and the explosive bang of King's shotgun. Phoenix was surrounded.

* * *

"Where were the jammers set up?" Sam looked at McKnight and took his turn. "One was in the center of town. The other four were in buildings at the cardinal ends of the village. Andrew and King were sent to track them down and get rid of them on the second day of the battle. The enemy had us surrounded and were toying with us. They'd send a couple at a time to try and disrupt our investigation. The platoon had put up a struggle from what we could tell. They went down kicking."

* * *

**August 10th**

_BOOM! _Either Andrew had taken out a jammer or King had thrown a frag. From this distance Thermer couldn't tell. "Hey boss. Looks like Andrew went a little heavy on the C7 this time. Whole building came down on the east side of town. Still no comms." _CRACK! _"Hostiles incoming. North side. Seven in sight. Get ready." Sam found his next target. _CRACK!_

* * *

"It took days for the fighting to calm down enough for Andrew to track down just one of the jammers. First was the east jammer. After that, him and King put the puzzle together and moved to the center of town. That's where they found the second. And that's when OpFor got scared. They stopped poking at us and started to send in more troops. I'm almost certain that they hadn't anticipated us to figure out where they were hiding the jammers." Jesse's report was dry, almost robotic.

* * *

**August 12th**

"King! Cover me!" Andrew dashed to the building catty-corner to his. King leaned out firing his M247 just centimeters behind Andrew. The two had run into heavy resistance at the North end of town. Andrew missed having comms. His throat was getting rather hoarse from having to yell orders or enemy positions. He hadn't spoken to Sam or Thermer in over a day. If this battle carried out too much longer he might run out of field smoothers, and if he was being honest with himself, that scared the Spartan.

* * *

"The north end had excessive resistance. King and I were left to deal with it ourselves while Sam and Thermer prevented more from pouring in from the other sides. Commander, I need to know how long was Charlie-Five missing before we were sent in?" McKnight sighed heavily. Someone had left this out of the mission briefing and now she had to tell them. Andrew's potential reaction was not something she looked forward to. "Two weeks. Charlie-Five had been missing for two weeks before Spartan forces were deployed to find them. They had been sent to find the source of some communication interference reported by UNSC Air Force. The same interference you found and followed to the village." Andrew grimaced. A whole platoon MIA for two weeks before someone was sent to help.

* * *

**August 6th**

"How long have they been dead?" King walked around the soldiers rotting bodies, cutting them free of the posts. Andrew walked up to one and inspected the corpse. "About a week from the looks of it. New larva growing in the mouth. Looks like birds been peckin' at 'em. This is wrong. Nobody deserves to be strung up like this. Boss, soon as we get those jammers cleared out we need to arrange pickup for them. They deserve a proper resting place." Andrew tried to close the dead private's eyes. "Agreed. I need you to find and disable them for us first though. Take King with you." _BANG!_

* * *

"Two weeks? Two fucking weeks?! If you had sent someone two days after they vanished off comms they'd still be alive, Commander! Fucking hell!" Andrew's chair clattered to the ground as the Spartan stood up. "They'd been dead and rotting a week by the time we got there. Their families are gonna be having closed casket funerals for them." McKnight looked at Andrew with icy patience. "Sit your ass down and cool it Spartan G199. I didn't hear of it until the day before I deployed you four. Reign your anger in and show me the goddamn respect I rate. Am I understood?" Andrew picked the chair up and sat down again. "Yes ma'am. I'm sorry for my outburst. I've been on edge for about five days now. I ran out of field smoothers five days ago."

Five days without smoothers. Five days of high stress levels. She knew he had to be on the edge of a serious breakdown. "Andrew, report to Spartan medical for treatment effective immediately. I don't need you killing anyone right now. The rest of Phoenix and I will finish the debriefing without you. Dismissed." Andrew slowly stood up and pushed the chair in. "Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am."

* * *

**August 26th**

"Briefing again? We just got back. Is the commander trying to run us ragged? We've only been back two whole days." King's rant had been constant since the team had gotten the call. "What really bugs me is that she wanted us in armor for a briefing. Since when the fuck is that somethi-" Andrew slugged King in the gut. "Shut up and pull yourself together will ya? At least we're not sitting around getting bored. What's got me concerned is that we aren't going to the regular briefing room. Why does she want us in company briefing?" Sam popped a foot up and sideways, kicking Andrew in the ass. "Practice what you preach, fuckhead."

As the Spartans approached the briefing room each one couldn't help but feel like something was wrong. When they saw that the lights were off all four went on guard. Putting their helmets on and stacking up to the doors, Andrew was the first to enter. He opened the team comm, "Right clear." Sam entered after him, "Left clear." Thermer entered next with King bringing up the rear. "Fan out. Be wary, we ain't got guns, just the knives." Andrew crept down an isle. His ears perked, and the Spartan could've sworn he heard whispering. Then were the faint clicks, like plastic tapping the floor quickly. "We're not alone. As for the guns, that was your call boss, I wish we had them now." Andrew's natural night vision was good, but not good enough at the moment. The night vision provided by his VISR was clear enough, but still grainier than the Spartan liked. Andrew rolled as something impacted his side, it's teeth clamping down on his forearm. The two struggled for a brief moment before Andrew managed to get the upper hand. The lights came on just as the Spartan raised his knife to deliver a fatal blow. "Spartan-G199, stand down." The Commander's voice was enough to get him to stop dead in his tracks. He stood up and saluted, his foe still hanging from his arm. "Sylas, loslassen. Auf mich."1

Andrew watched as the large dog let go of his arm and trotted to the man standing alongside McKnight. "All due respect ma'am, the fuck is with Cujo?" Andrew marched down to the stage at the end of the room. The man spoke up. "This Andrew, is the fruits of Spartan Thermer's labors. If I recall correctly Fireteam Phoenix nearly lost their prodigal sniper while recovering data on Trost. Data for one Project: Hellhound?" Thermer looked between the dog and the man. "You people shutdown Hellhound. Now you mean to tell me you stole my data and went through with it?" The handler looked from Andrew to Thermer. "We didn't put it into mass production. Sylas is the only Hellhound we've made. I can understand why you're angry though." Sam spoke up this time, "Oh he ain't angry, he's pissed. See how he's not speaking anymore? That's dangerous. I'm angry though. I nearly fucking died for that data and now you're telling us you went through with the project and we weren't even made aware. Told it was a no go. Fuck you, spook."

Andrew's helmet came off. "Look, I got limited patience for spooks like you. Say what you came to say so that we can go run maintenance on our equipment. I'm still picking dirt out of my guns." The handler nodded to McKnight, her voice filled the auditorium. "Fireteam Phoenix, you have been chosen to be handlers for one of the first military working dogs trained in centuries. Sylas is a multi-role MWD. He can sniff out bombs, detect firearms on one's person, act as a sentry and patrol unit. Andrew will be his primary handler effective immediately. Spartans, step forward and meet your number five." Andrew's jaw went slack.

* * *

**August 27th**

The team was stacked at a door. Andrew nodded to King. _BOOM BOOM BOOM CRACK! _The door clattered to the ground inside the building. Andrew released the leash in his hand. "Sylas, jage."2 The massive German Shepherd bolted into the structure, King followed sweeping the room with his shotgun. A yell and snarling from an attached room caught Andrew's attention. Sylas had a hostile pinned to the floor, his mouth clamped firmly on his crotch. Andrew put a round in the man's head and moved on. "Sylas, loslassen. Auf mich." Sylas let go and came up between Andrew's legs, coiled to jump at the next foe. The two separated to get up a flight of stairs. The landing led to a hall with two more rooms. "Bleibe wachsam."3 Andrew kicked one of the doors in, Sylas rushed in under his foot. Andrew cleared left. Nothing. He nodded to his new companion. "Oh-Two and Oh-Five are clearing the last room, sit-rep Oh-One?" Jesse came in over TEAMCOM. "Downstairs clear. Waiting on you two." Andrew stood in front of the last door, Sylas at his side. His boot crashed through the wooden door and yet again the dog rushed into the room, this time finding a target. Sylas lunged for the hostile's throat, clamping down with enough force to rip it out.

The team regrouped outside the building. Sylas happily sitting next to Andrew. The simulation fizzled out of existence and McKnight entered with the ONI handler. "Andrew, I'm impressed with your German. It seems you can effectively communicate with Sylas in high stress situations. Even more impressive was the lack of enemy fire." Andrew stared daggers at the man. "I'm fluent in four languages, arschloch. Of course my German is good. Besides that he takes commands well, including non-verbal."4 Andrew pulled a strip of jerky from one of his pouches and tossed it to Sylas. The dog greedily snapped at it. This time the handler shot Andrew a dirty look. The Spartan shrugged it off. "Sogar ein Höllenhund muss essen."5

* * *

AN:

Translations

1) Sylas, release. On me.

2) Sylas, hunt.

3) Stay alert.

4) Shithead

5) Even a Hellhound has to eat.

So, with the original community hitting a fat yeet on the previous lore I decided to revive a proposal that was shot down. Project: Hellhound uses chemical augmentations to enhance military working dogs much like Spartans. Sylas takes commands in German, allowing Phoenix to control the dog without enemy combatants interfering. We'll be seeing the Spartan fur missile more in the future.


	10. Chapter 9: Charlie Foxtrot

**Key:**

"Text" - speech

_'Text" _\- thought

_"Text" - _nonverbal speech

_Text_ \- onomatopoeia

* * *

_**Chapter 9: Charlie Foxtrot**_

**September 4th, 2568**

**Fort Keyes, Minerva, Lambda Rho System**

"So Commander McKnight, you seem to know your Spartans well. How would you describe the Spartan Company here?" McKnight was growing frustrated with the interview. PR was not her favorite part of the job. "I'd have to say that they are some of the best soldiers I've worked with. Each fireteam is unique in their own right. Some are," the Commander struggled to find the right word, "unorthodox to say the least."

The reporter, her cameraman and the Commander continued through the parade grounds. The reporter would ask the occasional question while her cameraman got b-roll footage. Overall the parade grounds were noisy. Units running physical training, warthogs moving supplies, the usual. Off to one side there came noises that definitely did not belong on base. From where the three stood they could hear the faint chanting of "Chug! Chug! Chug!" McKnight felt her comm-pad vibrate. Checking the notification she found that a transfer was in progress and that this wasn't the first one today. _'Oh no.' _The cameraman managed to get a good close-up of what was happening. He didn't see much, but through the throng of Marines he caught a glimpse of a fireteam insignia. "Hey, does one of your teams have a logo that's a bird with assault rifles on an orange shield?" McKnight let out an exasperated sigh. "Why did it have to be them? Why?" The reporter looked at the Commander with a look of shock. "Who are they? Why do they have you so worried?" McKnight deadpanned the woman. "You haven't met Fireteam Phoenix yet. They're completely psychotic. Maybe even sociopaths."

Almost as soon as she finished her sentence the crowd parted and Andrew stepped forward. The cameraman didn't notice the massive dog racing towards him. At least not until Andrew yelled. "Sylas! Auf mich," the fur missile skidded to a halt, nearly bowling over the now terrified cameraman. Andrew lost his composure and started to laugh hysterically. Just as soon as Sylas had arrived, he left the three to regroup with his handlers. Andrew was still in stitches, leaning against Thermer as his Commander and her companions arrived. "ATTENTION!" All personnel snapped to attention, a massive shit eating grin plastered on Andrew and King's faces. "What the hell is going on over here?" Andrew spoke up. "The Marines didn't believe King could down an entire bulk jug of hot sauce from the mess. So we bought three and placed bets. When we noticed the camera I thought it would be hilarious to sic Sylas on it and recall him at the last possible second. It was," Andrew looked at the reporter, "please tell me you got that. I want that on the news."

Silence. There was nothing but pure, unadulterated, awkward silence. King chose to break it. "Yo, camera guy? Catch this, I'm about to clean house. These boys are about to lose two hundred credits each. Andrew, I wanna shotgun this, stab it when I get it in the air." King twisted the cap off and punched a hole in the safety seal. Just as he got the bottom up Andrew stabbed the jug. In just ten seconds King downed the entire jug and crushed it against his head. Andrew looked between King, the cameraman, the reporter and McKnight. King had sauce dripping down his chin, McKnight was having a hard time keeping composed and the two civilians had an odd mix of emotions on their faces. "Did she call us psychotic yet? We're not. We just don't have the personality of a cardboard cutout drenched in vanilla ice cream," Andrew's statement went mostly unnoticed while the Marines transferred over their losses. Sam snickered while they walked off grumbling amongst each other. The cameraman broke the new silence, "I didn't know the military still used service dogs?" Thermer finally spoke, "Normally we don't. However a project led to us having one. Sylas is just as capable as we are." The reporter finally snapped out of her stupor, "What kind of project if you don't mind me asking?" McKnight was about to speak when Andrew blurted out, "The kind where if I told you, I'd have to kill the two of you and expunge all evidence. Sylas is the only MWD of his kind and therefore any intel regarding anything other than his role on the team is well beyond your clearance, assuming you have clearance."

"Smooth move big guy," Sam stepped passed Andrew with an air of confidence the rest of his team knew meant one thing. "So, what's a beautiful lady like you doing on a military base anyway?" The three remaining members of Phoenix groaned collectively. "Sorry, I only date grown men with all of their body parts." Sam didn't let up, much to the chagrin of his team. "Lady, I may be part robot, but I'm all man. Especially where it counts." Thermer stepped up and slapped Sam in the back of the head. "Need I remind you of SHARP, Spartan Caster?" Sam glared at their leader. "So, if you'd like we can do a private interview in my quarters. I can make sure there aren't any interruptions." McKnight decided to put her foot down. "Spartan Thermer, do I need to send you to additional SHARP training?" The reporter only sported a mildly confused look with an overlay of irritation. Andrew decided to answer her unspoken question. "Sexual Harassment and Assault Response and Prevention, SHARP. So, do you know a place where I can get a decent drink. All I know of is a club just inside the city." She thanked whatever deity was there for the normal question. "The one with the Slavic gang? That's really the only place I know of. Those guys are always antsy now. You know why?" Andrew laughed for a second. "Yeah I know why. I beat three of them within an inch of their lives for pulling a gun on me." The reporter looked shocked for the briefest second. "Maybe I'll see you down there some time. Commander, I think we have everything we need for our story." With that the three left the team and headed towards the main gate.

* * *

**September 6th**

**22:37 Local Time**

"I still can't believe Andrew managed to cockblock both of you." King spoke as he checked his gear. "He didn't cockblock me, the boss did." Thermer looked at Sam. "Nah, that was your own doing. 'Sides, the Commander is who cockblocked me." King threw his arms up. "Whatever, my point still stands. The local celibate with no sex drive has more game than either of you." Andrew was checking Sylas' armor. For something meant to stop bullets, it was pretty lightweight. "King, shut up and get your shit in gear. We should reach the AO in three mikes."

As if on cue a holoprojector lit up the pelican's troop bay. "Phoenix, as you know Echo-614 will clear out your LZ. From there you will enter the hangar and investigate. This private spaceport has been receiving several shipments daily and we have reason to believe that it's linked to an insurrection group from Dolorosa. The same one you fought while searching for Charlie-Five. If it has a gun pointed at you, kill it. We're opening a channel between your team and us. You will refer to us as 'Command' over comms. Godspeed Fireteam Phoenix." The dropship darkened again as the projector shut down.

The Pelican's gunner leaned through the bulkhead between the cockpit and troop-bay. "Hope you boys are ready, we're going hot in one Mike." Andrew turned to King and picked Sylas up. King clipped the massive dog to the rigging that had been provided to Andrew. The sound of the gunship's chin gun reverberated through the vessel. Within a minute the gunfire ended and the ship descended to a safe jump height. "Time to tag 'em and bag 'em," Andrew whooped. As soon as the Spartans hit the ground they went to work getting Sylas unclipped and approached the port's hangar and warehouse. The scene surrounding the port was as expected. Chunks of the tarmac, weapons and gore were scattered everywhere. "Echo 614, this is Phoenix actual, move to overwatch position and wait until further notice. Command, we are approaching the hangar. Safeties off Spartans. It looks hostile, cut it down." Thermer's HUD displayed four acknowledgement lights, three from the team and one from the Pelican.

_Boom! _Andrew's diversion went exactly as planned. The breaching charge drew the attention of everyone in the hangar. None of them heard the door get kicked in. None of them expected a 52kg armored German Shepherd to rip one from his feet and clamp down with enough force to snap his neck. The fight in the hangar was over before it started. The building was empty save the bodies and equipment. No cargo vessel to be found. No crates of gear. Just tools and refueling equipment. "Command, hangar is clear. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it looks like we missed the window to capture the cargo ship. Moving to the warehouse," Thermer reported. "Copy Phoenix Actual. Try not to destroy any of the supplies in the warehouse. Secure any intel possible."

Sylas stopped dead in his tracks as they approached the warehouse. Andrew recognized the tell immediately. "Explosives in target building. Zero Three swap to your GPMG. Don't want those explosive slugs setting off anything volatile. I vote we cut the power and get Zero Four on the roof. There are several skylights he can take shots from. They won't see it coming." Thermer nodded in agreement, effectively giving Andrew's plan the go ahead. Andrew pulled rappelling gear from the side pouches on Sylas' armor and handed them off to Sam before heading around the side of the building in search of a fuse box. "Judging by the fact that you actually brought these, I'm gonna say you've been planning this since briefing." Sam got an acknowledgement light in response.

"Zero Two in position."

"Zero Four in position."

"Acknowledged, Zero Two prep exothermic breach and kill the lights." While Spartans King, Caster and G199 were a thorn in his side, Thermer could reign in their more "eccentric" traits and use them to his advantage. In this case, it was Andrew's love for anything that burned its way through metal. Two flashes from Andrew told Thermer all he needed. "Kill the lights. Command, Phoenix Actual is going dark. NV on, Spartans." The resident Spartan-III fired twice into the fuse box and set off the thermite breaching pad. The small explosion from his end of the building signaled Thermer and King to bust down the front door.

Sam didn't bother covering Andrew or King, they could handle themselves with their MGs. He dropped the magnification of his scope down to 2x power and smashed the skylight in. "Zero Four providing cover fire, Boss. You mark 'em, I'll drop 'em." A marker immediately popped up on his HUD. _Crack! _The 14.5x114mm round shredded through the target's chest. "Shot to the heart, and I'm to blame." Andrew and King flashed red to Sam. "C'mon! That was a good one." Andrew flashed red again. "Sam, if I ever hear you say that again, I'll turn your prosthetic into a glorified potato masher. _Bang! _Sylas!" Andrew's comm cut short. Two more flashes came from Andrew's direction. "Zero Three, Two is in trouble mop up your lane and go assist him. Four, keep an eye on Two's breach point." Sam swapped out to his DMR and moved to position as quick as possible.

King's GPMG rattled dry as he finished off the last hostile in his row. "Lane cleared, shield recharging and swappin' Meme Machine for Bullet Hose." Thermer flashed green at King. "Copy Zero Three, as soon as your shields are charged move to check on Zero Two. He's been radio silent for too long." King flashed green back. Passing the end of Thermer's lane King grabbed an enemy by the head and slammed them into the shelves neck first. The combatant dropped in a limp pile immediately. King swept the corner that led into Andrew's lane and took fire from the direction of Andrew's tag. "Friendly fire! Friendly fire!" King stowed his SMG and rounded the corner with his hands in the air. Stepping over the bodies Andrew had left, King slowly made his way towards his brother in arms. "Zero One, Two's lane is empty. Five is standing sentry on Two's position." Thermer flashed green. "Sylas, tritt zurück. Es ist King." The augmented dog stood straighter and perked his ears up as King approached. "Thanks, not sure if I could stop him from taking my leg if I tried. Need a hand?"

Thermer's MA37 spat lead into the leg of his last target. The man dropped to the ground and was finished with an armored boot to the head. "Building clear. Sam, rendezvous with us on Andrew's position." The team leader jogged to his two machine gunners. Something he omitted from his orders was Andrew's condition. Those flashes from his lane were a flashbang followed by gunshots. As soon as they happened his HUD flashed injury reports from Andrew. What he saw when he came around the corner was worse than what he expected though. Two empty cans of biofoam laid at King's side and the brown armored Spartan was wrapping the explosives expert in gauze tape. Andrew himself was injecting something into his inner bicep. "Hey boss. Sorry, needed help while I smoothed out." Thermer looked at the one body that was out of place; a Sangheili, or what was left of one. The pool of violet blood it rested in mixed with the trickle from Andrew's torso. "The hell happened to that one?" Andrew pulled his helmet off and set it aside, spitting out blood before answering. "Well, he kicked the dog, shot me, and then threatened to wear the dog's skin like a cape. So I took his shotgun, blew off his arm and beat him to death with it." Thermer stared at the Elite's caved in skull. "With the arm or the gun?" Andrew blinked a couple times. "Yes." Thermer just stood there unamused. "Phoenix Actual, this is Command, collect any intel you can and evacuate. Longsword bombers are en route to level the site. You have five minutes." Thermer looked at King and Caster, then back to Andrew. "You two, go grab every datapad you can find. I'll call in the dropship and get this shithead and the dog out of here."

The Pelican hovered in place. Andrew convinced the pilot and copilot to stop and "watch the fireworks." The injured Spartan-III watched as the bombers came into view. He counted down on his hand and stared at Sam. "Here comes the boom." On queue the warehouse detonated outward, the shockwave sent rubble flying out into the surrounding terrain. "That's how you do it, Sammy Boy." Sam slugged Andrew's shoulder in response.

* * *

**September 13th, 14:30 Local Time**

**Fort Keyes**

Andrew stepped into the briefing room, Sylas at his heels. The presence of an O.N.I agent, Sangheili Representative and Commander McKnight did not bode well for the recovering soldier. He saluted as soon as he saw McKnight, wincing as the quick movement pulled at his injured abdomen. "At ease Spartan. I presume you already know why you're here?" Andrew sat down. "Sylas, setz dich. I'm gonna guess it's about that Charlie Foxtrot of an operation last week?" The Commander nodded. "Specifically the Sangheili you killed and the fact that all of the data pads your team recovered were wiped when you returned. So, spin us a yarn Spartan. Then we'll compare it with your helmet footage." The Spartan leaned back gathering his thoughts, but before he could answer the representative asked a question. "Why did you bring this dog with you?" Andrew looked the Sangheili up and down. "Well, after the incident we're about to discuss Sylas became much more attached. I believe he suffered some amount of psychological trauma during combat. He hasn't left my side since. That was part of my initial report after I was released from the recovery room. Now, to the story," the Spartan put his hands flat on the table and prepared his tale.

"We arrived on site aboard Echo 614, the copilot cleared an LZ with the chingun and we jumped three point five meters from the ramp to the tarmac. King helped me unclip Sylas from my rigging and we set a diversion at the hanger. Breached a wall and used the ensuing confusion to enter the front door. Not many hostile combatants in there, no cargo ship and no contraband. Moving to the warehouse we had Spartan Caster get up on the roof to provide cover from the skylights. Sylas had detected explosives inside. I cut the power and used exothermic compound to breach the metal wall near the fuse box. Once my entry point was well … open, Thermer and King breached the front. Sylas and I entered and downed several combatants. The team made their way through relatively quickly. Sam fired a shot and quipped some classic song lyrics. I joked something in response and then it happened. A flashbang clattered down the aisle I was in, it stunned Sylas and my visor couldn't polarize in time. While I was blinded the Sangheili in question advanced with an M45 Tactical. He fired two shots into my abdomen, breaking my shields and injuring me. He kicked Sylas aside and said something about wearing him like a cape. It was about that point I found my footing and lost control. I disarmed him and fired the weapon into his shoulder. I proceeded to rip his arm off and beat him with it. Unsatisfied with the lack of blunt force damage it was causing I dropped the arm in favor of the shotgun and caved that split chin's skull in."

The representative stood up and glared at the Spartan. "You will watch your tongue. He was an honorable warrior and I'll be damned before a human with the temperament of a Jiralhanae disgraces him with such a slur." Andrew and Sylas stood in unison, the MWD putting itself between its handler's legs in a defensive stance. "First off, why the fuck are you defending a terrorist? That honorable warrior fucking TORTURED OUR SOLDIERS A MONTH AGO! SECONDLY, IF YOU'VE GOT AN ISSUE WITH HOW I PROTECT MY SQUAD MATE AND DEFEND MY LIFE THEN SAY IT WITH YOUR CHEST! YOU THINK I WAS PISSED THEN?! I'LL SHOW YOU PISSED OFF!" The two were centimeters from each other. "Spartan G199 stand down and calm your MWD now," McKnight put her foot down stopping the two from ripping each other apart. "Sylas, tritt zurück," Andrew and the dog sat down in unison. The representative hissed a question at the Spartan, "Tortured?" Andrew looked at the Elite again. "Yeah, last month Phoenix was deployed to find a missing platoon that had found strange comms interference. Turns out the interference was caused by several Covenant communication jammers that had been placed in an abandoned town. If you're thinking it was a trap, you're right. We arrived at the town to find them all dead. Many had been killed in a ritualistic method of torture known as a blood eagle. Almost all of the blood eagled soldiers had bruising from a Sangheili hand. The size of the bruise matches the one I killed last week. To say he had it coming is an understatement."

McKnight whispered to the O.N.I agent before speaking. "Andrew, please inform the representative why you reacted the way you did. The real reason if you will." Andrew looked between her and the dark suited man as if to ask if they were serious. "I am a Gamma Company Spartan Three. Gamma Company received specific augmentations that Alpha and Beta Companies did not. These augmentations cause Gammas to enter a bipolar rage when faced with sufficient stress and trauma. After having my intestines turned into Swiss cheese and my dog threatened, the augments kicked in. I saw red and killed him in a method I saw fit. After that I sat in a pool of my own blood and waited for either a teammate to show up and help me or for death to take me. King rounded the corner a minute later and I fired off three rounds before he identified as friendly. I told Sylas to stand down and King patched me up while I took my smoothers, which counteract the bipolar integration augments. We completed the secondary objective and bugged out."

"Why didn't you hold your fire when he said the code phrase," the representative asked. Andrew looked at him confusedly. "What code phrase? He didn't say shit before flashing me and puttin' holes in my gut. Commander, play my helmet cam." The four people in the room watched the incident in question played on the briefing projector. Just like Andrew said, no hesitation in the Sangheili warrior's actions. The O.N.I agent squirmed as they all turned to him. Andrew broke the silence. "Which brings us to the missing data. The data O.N.I wanted us to retrieve." The agent stepped in before the Spartan could get another word out. "That it does. Now, if you don't turn it over I'll have you court martialed for insubordination and war crimes. Do I make myself clear?" Andrew leaned forward, fiddling with his boot before standing up and slamming a knife into the table. "Like hell you will. You try that, and I'll leak everything I saw on those datapads. I'm sure the public would love to hear about O.N.I providing terrorists with weapons. I'm sure Thel 'Vadam would love to hear how you used one of his warriors in a deep cover mission, only to use Spartan forces to tie off the loose end he presented. You Delta-6 bastards think you've got the upper hand, but you're dead fucking wrong. Commander, you will have my full report on the data I collected and viewed tomorrow morning at oh-seven hundred. This man is not in my chain of command, nor is he in my branch of service. I will be damned if he coerces me into giving him data that should be reported to you." Andrew ripped the knife from the table and put it back into the boot sheath. The Spartan's voice had been unsettlingly calm throughout, though his expression betrayed that. Wrath and disgust emanated off him. McKnight looked at him and grinned, "Very well Spartan G199. I expect you at my office at oh-six fifty with the files in hand. We will discuss your findings and find proper disciplinary action for your outbursts. You are dismissed. The rest of us have very important matters to talk about." Andrew stood and snapped a crisp salute. "Aye Commander. Representative, I'm sorry for what I had to do. Had things gone the way they should've, your warrior would have been on the dropship with us. Sylas, auf mich."

* * *

Translations

Auf mich- With me

Tritt zurück- Stand down

Es ist- It is

Setz dich- Sit down

* * *

**AN: **Well this took a while to finish and get published. I wanted to push Phoenix into murky waters with this chapter. Chapter 10 will directly follow this one. Remember, Andrew is a brute of a soldier, but his time with O.N.I taught him a thing or two.


	11. Chapter 10: Alpha Mike Foxtrot

_**Chapter 10: Alpha Mike Foxtrot**_

**September 13th, 2586**

**19:38 Local Time**

**Fort Keyes, Minerva, Lambda Rho System**

Andrew had already given his team the details on what happened in briefing. This being said, Sam was unsurprised when O.N.I arrived at their door. Sam was an asshole, but he wasn't uncivilized; so the sniper chose to wait until Andrew left the bathroom to tell him what's going on. _Flush. _"Hey Andrew? I need you to get the Boss and the Commander on the horn. Pronto."

"Why," Andrew asked, having not looked up from the report he was proofreading. He kneeled down and gave Sylas a pat on the head.

"We have some unwelcome guests and King is getting really trigger happy over there." Andrew finally looked up from the datapad and looked at the unwelcomed men. He gave a scowl and saved his progress before opening his contacts. Seeing where Jesse was and knowing what he'd be doing made his heart sink at the thought of interrupting. _'Sorry boss, if I had any other options.' _He pressed the call button.

"Andrew, I'm kinda busy."

"Boss, if I had any other options I would. King's here with a gun to some spook dickhead standing in the door. I still gotta get McKnight on the horn, just get here as soon as you can," Andrew hung up and scrolled back up to McKnight's info. She was still on base and better yet in her office. Call. _Dial tone. Dial tone. Dial tone. Click._

"This better be good Spartan."

"O.N.I is here to take me in and King's got them at gunpoint in the doorway. We need you down here. No, the report isn't ready, I'm proofreading it presently," Andrew could've sworn he heard her curse under her breath before hanging up. "Aight Sam, they're on their way. Cover me for a sec you two."

Andrew slid Sylas out of his way and opened his footlocker. From it he removed his bottle of whiskey, a rocks glass, a rag and a lighter. He sat down at his desk, poured a shot and downed it before stuffing the rag in the bottle and tipping it upside down and right side up. He fiddled with his datapad and finally looked up at the agents. "Alright you scum sucking fucks here's how it's gonna go down. You make one move before my team leader and Commander McKnight get here and I'll leak my findings to the entire Galaxy. Then I take this here bottle of whiskey and light the thing up like fireworks. You die, I die, everyone dies. Any questions? No? Good."

Minutes passed. The silent stalemate dragged out. Andrew fiddled with his lighter in one hand and pet Sylas with the other. Sam played with his knife, the blade dancing between his fingers. King stood firm, the barrel of his SMG pressed into the chest of the nearest agent. Sam spoke up again. "So, big guy, what did you find that riled these guys up?"

Andrew rolled his head in Sam's direction, "Oh the usual spook shit. O.N.I supplied all of the weapons the innies used, the elite that I killed was a deep cover operative who was supposed to get a key phrase for us to extract him. O.N.I decided that he was a loose end. The data we recovered and the port itself were the final pieces of evidence and I'm not letting them destroy the data. Ain't that right, Agent?"

"We have a warrant for the arrest of Spartan Andrew-G199 under charges of insubordination and war crimes." King stomped the agent's foot.

"Bullshit you got a warrant in five hours. I ain't even in your jurisdiction. You don't own me anymore. I'm under the Spartan branch. A move like that would take you a day, minimum." Andrew sparked the lighter and tilted it towards the Molotov cocktail on his desk. He flicked the lighter closed, the flame barely licking the liquor soaked rag. Finally Thermer arrived, grabbing an agent by the neck and tossing him aside. "I'm sorry about interrupting your family time boss. I really wish I didn't have to."

"Don't worry about it Andrew, Phoenix is family too. By the by, I brought a gift." He set down one of Andrew's foam moulds, a can of C7, a blasting cap and remote detonator. Andrew quickly went to work crafting the crude bomb. The Spartan-III took it towards King and pulled him aside. He set the bomb on the floor and stared the lead agent in the eyes, malicious intent sparkling in his like stars in the night sky. "Any of you try to touch this and I'll send us all to hell." The Spartan walked back to his desk. "Boss, you always bring me the best toys."

More silence. More waiting. It was unbearable. Andrew went back to proofreading the report. Sam still sat with his knife. King adjusted the sights on his SMG. Thermer locked eyes with the lead agent. After about five minutes like this Andrew spoke up, "Done. I'm sure the boss lady will be happy to have this early. Speaking of, where the hell is she?" Five more minutes passed. Andrew heard something faint through the wall. Armored footfalls. Heavy footfalls attempting to be silent. The Spartan smirked and tapped on Sam's leg. He pointed at the door and held a hand up, counting down on his fingers. _"Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero." _Andrew pumped his fist at zero and the team watched as Spartan-IV MPs dragged the three O.N.I agents away. Commander McKnight stepped into the doorway. "Fireteam Phoenix, report."

"All members of Phoenix present and operational Ma'am. Please be wary of Andrew's deterrent at your feet," Thermer stated. The commander looked down to see the small explosive device on the floor. She looked between Thermer, Andrew and the bomb in a silent _"What the fuck?" _Andrew walked over and snatched it up. The Spartan sat back down at his desk and dismantled the detonator circuit. McKnight looked directly at Andrew, "What did they want?"

"Supposedly they have a warrant for my arrest on charges of insubordination and war crimes. Presumably because of the data I retrieved. The report is ready for you Commander, I've encrypted the file and will provide you with two drives; one for the file, one for the cypher."

One of the agents had managed to wrestle his way out of the MP's grasp and ran to the doorway. It was the same agent who had sat in on Andrew's debriefing. "I'll have your heads for this! You can't keep that file from me. Spartan G199 hand it over to me immediately!" Andrew stood up and walked towards him. Without missing a beat the Spartan turned away and handed his report to McKnight. The agent grabbed ahold of Andrew's sleeve as he tried to walk away. The man didn't realize what had happened until he was on his back. Andrew had turned, picked him up by the collar, slammed him into the floor and had his boot knife pressed to his throat in a mere second. "Lay your hands on me again and you'll find out why I was the best interrogator in Gamma Company. You aren't in my chain of command. You'll see that data when you appear before a tribunal."

McKnight tapped Andrew on the shoulder and jerked her head to the side. Andrew took his time standing up and kicked the agent in the ribs as he walked back to his desk. He checked the sutures in his abdomen, pleased to see his actions hadn't popped a stitch. The rest of Phoenix closed in on Andrew and stood at his side, their message clear. "Andrew, I'm pleased that you stuck to your gut on this and chose to expose something that could've come back to bite our branch in the ass. I'm also glad to see that Sylas is integrating well and forming a bond with one of you. Andrew, you are not allowed to die until that dog retires, that's an order. I'll take care of this Charlie Foxtrot from here." She turned away and picked the agent up by the collar. Andrew couldn't help but get the last laugh. "Alpha Mike Foxtrot."

* * *

**September 18th, 2568**

**13:30 Local Time**

Andrew turned on the display in the barracks and flicked over to the local news. The story on the local Spartan Company was finally running and Phoenix were hoping to see their antics on display. "Hey shitheads, get in here. You're gonna miss it." The other three practically materialized next to him. Twenty minutes of the regular crap went past. An interview with the Commander, a tour of the armor bays, etc. Just when the four though the story had run its course, a statement caught them off guard.

"One Spartan team stood out against the others though. Fireteam Phoenix is an infamous direct action team. Their record as a team goes back to 2563 during the UNSC's final year in the Delta Forti system. Their history isn't what caught my attention though, it was their personalities." The team watched the footage focus in on their emblem, and then zoom out just in time to catch Sylas dig his heels into the dirt and turn back to the large group. "The team are each fairly unique and my correspondence with Lieutenant Commander McKnight gave me some insight into the team dynamic. I think that team Explosives Expert Spartan Andrew-G199 said it best, 'We just don't have the personality of a cardboard cutout drenched in vanilla ice cream.'" Footage of King chugging hot sauce played while she talked about the team's operational history. "What was most shocking to me was the team's combat record. Having been deployed almost a hundred times across human controlled space, one would think the team would be run down and filled with dread. Surprisingly, they've managed to keep their spirits high and can often be found roaming the base, roping unwitting soldiers into ridiculous bets. What the future holds for Phoenix and the rest of Minerva's Spartan Company is a mystery to us all."

"Dude, we're fucking celebrities."

"How the fuck would you know, Sam? This is the first time this has ever aired."

"Yeah, don't ya think you're jumpin' the gun there?"

"You'll see."

* * *

**September 20th, 2568**

**14:00 Local Time**

"King, catch," Andrew tossed a mic at his battle brother. King caught it with ease. Andrew set up the datapad and sat down across from King. "So Andrew, when did you start to get worried about the duration of the operation?"

"Right after my first outing with them. The convoy ambush. Those troops that I had cut down, I was supposed to be on their side. I didn't know how long I'd be able to run this op. After a while I thought I just got desensitized to it all, but years later it all came flooding back. That wasn't too long after I got deployed to Trost. It's hard for me to admit, but Outcast fucked with my head in ways I didn't think were possible at the time," Andrew answered as honestly as he could. This wasn't just to tell stories, it was to clear the weight off his chest. Telling lies wouldn't help one bit. King's gears were turning the whole time, thinking of his next query. Finally he asked, "So, what did O.N.I think of your performance? What did they say as you fed them more and more intel?"

"Really? After what just went down last week," King shrugged in response. "Fine. First they were just happy to hear I hadn't been killed. My convoy assault made them elated that I was useful in the field and that I was proving to the insurrection that I was one of them. As time passed on they kept taking the intel and telling me to keep it up. That my data retrieval was exemplary. The more high ranking innies I found "guilty" of espionage, the more praise I got. They stroked my ego like it was a two and a half meter hard-on.

"I didn't feel right about it. The innies I had no problem killing. Our people though? I wanted to vomit every damn time. But I just kept it up. Kept killing, kept spying, kept rotting them from the inside out. If it ever got out to the families of our people, I don't want to know what would happen. It wouldn't be pretty." Andrew rubbed the scar on his cheek. It felt as though it were ablaze. King noticed him start to close up. "So, what was life like in the innies' base? Were there social groups? Teams? What was the non-combat day to day like?"

"Well, the compound was a fucking shithole. It was made of small duracrete buildings and tents. No running water anywhere. The brig was just a room with a door that locked from the outside. I could've easily ripped it off its hinges the first night. There weren't any social groups really. They were all farmers from the same general area. They all kinda knew each other before beginning their little rebellion. If you weren't on a raid you were helping with the upkeep. Repairing equipment, fixing buildings, etc. I was typically used to lift heavy shit. Being augmented made me the strongest person on site. Need a truck dragged back to the garage? Get Andrew. Need some ordnance moved? Get Andrew. I also trained them on how to maintain weaponry in the field and how to do it fast."

"So you were like their handyman? Wow, talk about underutilizing their best asset," King wasn't surprised by Andrew's description of the compound. They'd both seen how insurrections on small colonies live. He was genuinely shocked that they used Andrew as a maintenance man more than anything else. The datapad buzzed and paused the recording. Andrew checked the notification. "Looks like the Commander needs us in the armor bay. Something about O.N.I Section Two."

"Why the hell do the propaganda boys need us?"

"Fuck. I owe Sam a hundred credits now. Looks like we're celebrities."

"Shit, I owe him four hundred in that case."

* * *

Next chapter will have a bit of action. I wanted to show that despite being augmented, taking a shotgun to the gut is gonna need some time to heal.


	12. Chapter 11: Of Honor and Sin

"Text" = spoken

_'Text' = _thought

_"Text" = _sign or hand signal

_Text _= onomatopoeia

* * *

_**Chapter 11: Of Honor and Sin**_

**September 30th, 2568 **

**12:14 Local Time**

**New Sydney, Minerva, Lambda Rho System**

Guard duty to a diplomat was not within Phoenix's normal wheelhouse. Hell, they hated guard missions. They didn't have much say with this one, Andrew had pissed off a very important Sangheili about two weeks prior. Said representative of the Swords of Sangheilios decided to get some just desserts. Andrew was on edge about the whole thing. A diplomatic parade with a VIP standing through the sunroof of his transport. The team's new fame amongst the populace making the crowd louder. Andrew wasn't the only one who felt that way. Thermer was more than a little twitchy. Andrew's voice broke the team's silence, "Next time I brutalize an enemy, don't let me go to debriefing alone. Or we may end up on a job like this."

"Andrew, keep it quiet and stay on guard. I don't like this and I don't like that the investigation into that spook hasn't gone anywhere," Thermer barked at his second. It was true though, seventeen days and nothing had been produced but more questions. Questions that Section Three dodged like plasma grenades. Andrew shrugged at Thermer and kept walking alongside the slow moving car. The parade was supposed to go from the Capitol building to a civilian spaceport that had been cleared out for the day. Nobody in Phoenix was looking forward to the walk.

The lead vehicle entered an intersection. The crowd on one side parted in a panic as a box truck crashed through the barrier. It slammed into the lead truck causing them both to spin around the intersection, narrowly missing the crowd on the other side. Every other vehicle in the parade stopped. "Eyes up Phoenix, we got trouble," Thermer called out. Andrew reflexively grabbed his SAW from the magnetic hardpoint on his armor. "Andrew, secure the VIP and get Sylas out here. King, grab your new toy from the truck. Sam, watch for snipers. UNSC local forces, you are now under the command of Fireteam Phoenix. Vanguard Two, assess Vanguard One's condition," Thermer's voice was cold and calculated. _'I am not letting what happened in March happen again. I'll be damned if we lose our freedom over this.' _

**Andrew**

The Spartan-III slid across the hood of the car and ran to the rear passenger side door. He nearly ripped the door from the vehicle as he opened it. Andrew grabbed hold of the Sangheili's ornate armor and yanked down. "Stay here until I say it's safe. If you die, I will kill myself just to murder your ghost, am I clear," the representative could only nod in response. "Driver, passenger window down. Sylas, auf mich." The massive dog leapt through the open window and trotted to his handler's side. "Guter hund, bereit zu jagen?" Sylas lowered his stance and growled in response.

Andrew and Sylas moved towards the front of the car and looked towards the intersection. The mangled trucks had left debris scattered around the area. It seemed as though civilians had finally started to comprehend what was happening and ran for the nearest safe building. Someone hopped out of the hostile box truck holding an MA5K. Andrew leveled his SAW to fire but was beaten to it by Thermer. Their leader's DMR popped once and a fine mist of red sprayed from the back of the insurgent's head.

Screaming, even with the noise filters in his helmet, he still heard the civilians screaming as they ran. Andrew pulled a metal ball from a pouch and threw it into the intersection. He threw another at Rearguard Two. The third he dropped at his feet. "Softballs deployed and synced with Artemis. Reading several targets in the box truck and within a one block radius. Looks like these are the weapons supplied by O.N.I," Andrew kept his SAW leveled on the truck's open rear. Thermer threw a hand signal towards Andrew, the Spartan-III nodded in response and opened up on the truck. He didn't stop until his magazine emptied. "Vanguard Two, move in. I've got you covered," Andrew ordered as he reloaded.

The troopers of Vanguard Two moved forward slowly. As they checked over the allied vehicle, the Artemis pinged new weapon signatures. More of the ill begotten firearms. "Vanguard One are all incapacitated, but alive. Removing them from the vehicle." Andrew responded to them immediately. "Understood. Make it hasty, more hostiles closing in." _THUNK! _Andrew looked on in abject horror, Vanguard Two collectively scrambled for cover as a forty millimeter grenade bounced off the ground and detonated under Vanguard One's fuel tank. _BOOM! _Team status reported flatlines from both Vanguard teams. Eight troopers gone as the two trucks sent debris in every direction. No civilians had been caught in the blast, but Phoenix were mortified.

Thermer's voice came over TEAM-COMM first. "Rearguard, defensive formation near the VIP. Andrew, take command, I need to call in support." Andrew blinked his acknowledgement and gathered himself. "Rearguard, I need four of you in close proximity to the VIP and the rest fanned out. King, use that supplemental to block 40 mils if possible. Sam, covering fire with your DMR, but keep an eye out for sniper fire. Eyes up everyone, hostiles approaching."

**King**

Brandon winked his acknowledgement to Andrew. The new supplemental armor for his bracer was in fact a large telescoping riot shield. The absurdity of a Spartan needing an old school shield wasn't lost on anyone. With a click of a button the shield sprang open, the solid Titanium-A slabs locked into place forming a formidable defense. It wasn't light by any means, but it could take one hell of a punch.

King held his pistol in his right hand, taking pot shots when he could. His motion tracker marked a target behind him. King spun on his heel, weapon ready, and found a child no more than ten years of age. The boy was in tears, bawling for his mother. Even though the Spartan was a textbook sadist, there was something about the scared innocent boy that brought out what little compassion he had. His pistol found itself back on his hip. King scooped the child up and sheltered him behind the wall of titanium attached to his arm. "Hey buddy, I'm gonna get you to safety. We'll find your mom after the bad men are gone, okay?"

The young boy's face was a myriad of emotions; terror, awe, hope, confusion. Several bullets slammed into the shield, causing the boy to cling to King's chest. _'Fucking pinkos attack a damn parade and then fire at the guy saving a kid. I'll rip their fucking teeth out if I get one alive.' _King kept marching towards the VIP vehicle. _THUNK-THUNK-THUNK-THUNK. _More rounds slammed into his shield.

"King, I need you fighting. What the hell are you doing?" Brandon gritted his teeth at Andrew's interruption. The kid was shaking against King's chest plate. Another staccato of gunfire. The child whimpered. Suddenly the Spartan-IV understood how Andrew felt before losing it in combat. "Civilian rescue boss. Child, need to save him." Andrew returned a green light and cut over local comms. "Rearguard Two, cover Phoenix Three. Make sure he gets that child to the VIP." The gunfire around King suddenly shifted focus. Fewer and fewer rounds hit his shield. More and more the kid loosened his grip on King's chest.

Andrew was waiting at the VIP car for his brother-in-arms. Their charge was placed in the back seat. Before the two went back to fighting Andrew placed a hand on King's shoulder and gave him a short nod with a Spartan Smile.

**Caster**

Sam's DMR popped rhythmically as he found and dispatched his targets. Hearing King speak of carrying a child on the field made Caster's blood boil. This attack was bold. Open combat in New Sydney, civilians everywhere, too many distractions. Sam slammed the butt of his rifle into a man's nose. The insurgent dropped faster than a SOIEV. Caster new the man was dead on impact.

A round slammed into the ground near Sam. The vapor trail, the crack, the thump, he knew the sound too damn well. The round was a 14.5x114mm APFSDS fired from a stolen sniper, likely an older SRS99D-S2. Sam bolted for the closest cover and swapped for his sniper, an SRS99-S5. Another round slammed just behind him. A HUD application began tracing the vapor trail back to the sniper's nest. This gunman was a nuisance, placing another round far too close to Sam's left arm. _'This guy ain't even a fucking PIG. Lead, exhale.' CRACK! _Sam returned the rifle to his back and grabbed his M6H from his hip. _BANG BANG BANG! _Sam placed his shots with pinpoint precision. Each one ended a different combatant. Sam's cover took fire, causing him to bolt for safety. Another wave of insurgents came into the area, this time from the side where the truck broke through the barricades.

"Boss, where's that goddamn support," Sam shouted over comms. He didn't get an answer, just an amber light from Thermer. _'Shit.'_

**Thermer**

The popcorn clatter of Jesse's MA37 sounded off as he dispatched yet another target. Any minute now he would get word back. Certainly command wouldn't let the team get overrun. Certainly they wouldn't be allowed to buy the farm today. "Phoenix Actual, this is command. Spartan support is three mikes out. Dropzone is marked on your tacmap. Out." Thermer breathed a sigh of relief. "Copy that Command. Phoenix Actual out."

Thermer's rifle clattered more as he opened up on a group insurgents hiding behind the corner of a building. Chips of duracrete flecked off as the 7.62x51mm rounds impacted the building. A flash of brown ran passed the corner of the building and dragged one of his targets out. Jesse didn't hesitate to take care of Sylas' present. The dog repeated this process until the two had taken care of the insurgents behind the building. While he was cautious about the dog initially, Sylas had proven invaluable to the team. Thermer let a small grin slip as he heard Andrew call for their fifth member.

Jesse was lifted off his feet, the concussive blast completely unexpected. King rushed to Thermer, covering him with the shield as the leader stood up. His energy shields cycled as he took cover behind his third man. Support couldn't come fast enough. Mission clock showed two minutes until help arrived. "Two mikes until help arrives. Two mikes."

**Jot 'Zusamee**

Jot snapped the breach of the M319 Grenade Launcher shut, irritated that his enemies were so resilient. Truth be told, he was supposed to be hunting the green one, but the black and white clad demon was an opportunistic shot. The Sangheili warrior scanned the battlefield looking for his true target. He found the green one fighting one of the human rebels in close quarters, easily overpowering the meager rebel.

Jot hated humans. He loathed them. That they would study, analyze and destroy the relics left behind by the gods; it was repulsive. That they would augment themselves in such an unnatural way and not just accept their place as weak, pathetic creatures, Jot found it sickening. Despite all this, the demons had gained his respect over the years. Their unwavering determination and combat prowess was something to be admired. So, as he approached the green demon, Jot did the most human thing he could think of. He spun the Spartan around to face him, and punched him in the visor.

The Spartan staggered back and shook his head. Not a "no," but the kind to unfaze oneself. Jot hadn't even readied his sword by the time the boot impacted his torso. The swiftness of it all was shocking. He hadn't heard the thrusters on this one's armor fire, meaning he was capable of moving faster than Jot had seen. '_Was the demon toying with the rebels? Was he actually enjoying their futile attempts to kill him?' _Jot squashed that train of thought as his foe closed in. The demon's weapon leered at him. Then the Spartan spoke. "Drop your weapons and surrender. UNSC forces will be here in approximately two minutes to either kill or arrest any remaining hostiles. This is your only warning."

In a flash Jot had ignited his sword and lunged at the Spartan. The gall of this creature to suggest that he just throw away his honor. Jot would teach him a lesson with utmost prejudice. He missed though. At the end of his swing there was nothing, no demon, just empty air. Then came the first blow. The Spartan slammed his fist into the Sangheili's gut, causing Jot to double double over. Then the second strike. The Spartan's knee slammed into Jot's combat harness, the force knocking the sword master to the ground. The Spartan spoke again. "I've fought sword masters before. I won't be so easy."

It was the Spartan's tone that angered Jot the most. That flat uncaring tone, it was insulting. It was as if the demon didn't want to give him the time of day. "I'll make you pay for your insolence, Demon." Jot lunged again, this time missing as the Spartan sidestepped. The demon spoke again. "The name is Andrew. It's a little rude misname someone like that."

"Are you going to keep running away from my attacks or are you going to fight? I thought you _Demons_ relished combat, or am I mistaken?" Jot's taunt didn't seem to faze Andrew at all. The two walked in a slow circle, sizing one another up. Andrew stopped after a moment and spoke once more. "Sylas, angehen." Jot was confused. He'd never heard such a dialect before. Suddenly a massive object slammed into his back forcing him to stagger towards the Spartan. The boot came faster than he could react. He could've sworn he heard the nanolaminate of his combat harness crunch as the Spartan seemingly stepped _through _him. Jot skidded across the pavement for the briefest of seconds. He checked the harness as he stood, finding a dent where he was kicked. Next to the Spartan now stood a creature. Large, covered in fur and adorned with a combat harness of its own. If Jot recalled correctly it was called a dog. In the 28 cycles since the Great War started never had he seen one of these dogs used in combat, so why now? What drove them to use animals in combat when drones can be used just as easily?

Jot squashed these questions. The Spartan opened fire, his rounds chewing up Jot's shield. The Sangheili warrior ran to the nearest cover, the second vanguard truck. His shield shimmered as it recharged. With his plasma rifle in one hand and his sword in the other Jot looked out across the hood of the truck. "Boo." Jot spun around, swinging his plasma rifle in a wild punch. His attack struck the Spartan across the visor.

**Andrew**

The blow hurt, it hurt bad. Even worse was that his head slammed into the armored truck. This warrior was tough, he'd give him that. Andrew blinked until his vision cleared. The Spartan checked his HUD for a sit-rep, finding his visor shattered across the right side. His eyesight became blurred again, this time he could see nothing but red on his right side. Red, blood, Andrew was bleeding into his eye. As if the day couldn't get worse; he now had a new scar, needed armor repairs, couldn't go off half-cocked, and needed to worry about civilians. The dam broke. He slammed a fist into the truck as he stood up.

Jot kicked Andrew in the chest before he could get up. He skittered across the street. Jot fired off a few shots, the plasma bolts washed over his armor, melting the top layer of it. _'Great, more 'VERSE-DAMNED repairs.' _Andrew scrambled to his feet. Jot was rushing straight for him. "Sylas!" Andrew hadn't even thought of who he was calling for. The Hellhound came out of left field, wrapping his jaws around Jot's left wrist and threw the charging sword master from his feet again. "Sylas, loslassen. Auf mich." The dog just managed to get away before Jot could swing at him.

From the corner of his vision Andrew could see more Spartans entering the fray. Support had arrived, finally. He would've been relieved if it wasn't for the fight he was locked in. As the Spartan walked to his foe he could feel the augs taking hold. He fired a few shots from his sidearm. The incendiary rounds did little more than make Jot's shield flare up again. Andrew's sneer could be seen past his shattered visor. The blood streaming down his face made it that much more intimidating. Jot attempted to stand and was greeted by Andrew's boot. The kick wrenched Jot's head to the side and knocked him down again. As he knelt down over the Sangheili, any and all restraint left Andrew's mind. He tossed his sidearm and yanked his knife from its sheath on his chest. Jot caught the Spartan's wrist before he could land the final blow. Andrew pushed down with all his might; forcing the blade closer, millimeter by millimeter. "Sylas, handgelenk." The Hellhound gripped Jot by the wrist again and pulled the warrior's arm wide. Andrew took advantage and stabbed Jot in the side, right under his combat harness.

Jot began to struggle like a caged animal. He refused to die on this backwater world. Andrew stabbed again and again. Slowly the Sangheili gave in, his wounds draining him of energy. Andrew spoke again. "Identify yourself, warrior." Jot was baffled but humored the Spartan. Weakly he spoke his name, "Jot 'Zusamee." The Spartan pulled the knife from Jot's abdomen one last time and pressed it against the Sangheili's long neck. "Then I'll make this quick, Jot 'Zusamee. You have brought honor to your clan. You have fought valiantly, may Urs' light shine upon you in the afterlife." With one final push the Spartan sunk the blade into his enemy and severed the carotid artery and trachea. Jot rasped and coughed before losing consciousness, after which Andrew severed his brain stem.

The Spartan slowly stood up. Violet blood dripped from his hand. The fighting had stopped, but Andrew still heard gunfire in the distance. "Boss, sitrep? I still hear fighting." The Spartan limped to his leader. Sylas trailed behind, taking a seat and leaning against Andrew when he stopped. Thermer looked him up and down, the demolitions expert was in rough shape. The entire right side of his visor was shattered and cracks webbed across the left. His greaves and right gauntlet were scorched and partially melted. He was missing his SAW and sidearm. Even without the sensor feed Thermer knew Andrew's vitals were a mess. "Our AO is cleared. Rebel contingents have started gunfights across the city. Fireteams Aegis and Aquila are on station. Rearguard suffered five casualties, no dead. Medevac is on the way. You need to smooth out before worrying about anything else."

Andrew looked down at his left hand, the way it trembled was all the confirmation he needed. Reaching into his med pouch the Spartan fished out a syringe. Screwing it into the port in his techsuit's neck and clicking the plunger release, a familiar cold flowed up his neck. Yelling nearby caught his attention and he turned to see another Spartan arguing with a distraught woman. "Spartan, identify," Andrew limped over to where the two were. "Aegis Two, this woman is looking for her son. If you ask me, she needs to stay in the building she just came out of." Andrew sent King an Amber light to catch the Spartan's attention. As soon as his battle brother looked at him Andrew signed one word, _"Kid."_

King rushed over to the VIP vehicle and scooped up the child once more. Andrew looked into Aegis Two's visor and spoke. "Step aside Spartan, Phoenix will handle this," turning now to the woman he spoke once more, "Ma'am it's alright, Spartan King is bringing your son over right now. He's unharmed." The woman slumped against Andrew and quietly sobbed. In the smallest voice he'd ever heard, the woman thanked him. King arrived with the boy in his arms, seated as though the gauntlets were his personal throne. The kid jumped down and rushed to his mother. The two embraced, sobbing loudly, not caring who or what saw them. Andrew knelt down, just below eye level with the woman. "Ma'am, you two should get to shelter. There's still fighting throughout the city. You'll be safer indoors, I don't want more people to get hurt. Please," Andrew asked. She nodded, grabbed the boy's hand and ran towards a cafe on the first floor of a high rise.

That's when the camera drone caught his attention. "Inspiring stuff Spartan. Kinda disappointed I haven't seen you down at the club." It was the reporter who'd done the piece on Fort Keyes' Spartan contingent. Andrew turned to face her, his hand still trembling, the blood on his face drying. "What was that with the Sangheili? It looked ritualistic." King put a hand on Andrew's shoulder. The Spartan wasn't in a good mental space and King knew he'd need an anchor.

"I gave him last rites. Well, the Sangheili equivalency. I may not be religious, but that warrior deserved them. He fought with conviction and not once did he attack me while I was unarmed. He upheld his code of honor until the bitter end. The least I can do is send him to the afterlife with respect and recognition. You need to get outta here. There are still firefights all across the city," with that said he turned away to find his missing weapons.

* * *

**Pelican en Route to Fort Keyes**

**12:25 Local Time**

"What are you suggesting Spartan G199," Osman hissed. This call had gone as well as he'd expected. A conference call between Phoenix, Lieutenant Commander McKnight and CINCONI Admiral Serin Osman on the matter of the insurrection in the Lambda Rho system; the tension was palpable. Back in New Sydney fireteam Aquila was coordinating with local PD and Army forces against the insurgents, meanwhile Aegis had been tasked with escorting the VIP back to base and providing security until he could be taken off planet.

"What I'm suggesting, Admiral, is that ONI performs a joint operation with the Spartan branch in order to arrest and interrogate a rogue agent who has over-extended his operational authority and aided elements of the Red Hand. I'm suggesting that I do what your branch taught me to do and get answers out of someone who has the blood of an entire platoon on his hands."

Serin turned her attention to McKnight. "What are your thoughts on this Lieutenant Commander?" McKnight mulled over what had over the last few months. She chose her words carefully, "I believe that whether we allow Andrew to do it or not doesn't matter. He'll do it anyway in the pursuit of justice for the fallen troopers. I also believe that removing this rogue element would prove beneficial to the Stability of Lambda Rho as a whole. Rebel supplies would be heavily cut back and their intel would become word of mouth as opposed to a legitimate leak. Should you authorize this, Fireteam Phoenix has my permission to act as soon as they get to base."

Osman looked back at the feed from Phoenix's pelican. Glass from his visor was still stuck in Andrew's brow. Thermer's techsuit had cuts through it and the plating bore the unmistakable marks of an explosion. Sam was tuning his prosthetic arm. King just sat in the background, fiddling with what appeared to be a broken knife. The group appeared to be worse for wear, but the fire in Andrew's eyes was unmistakable. He was doing this with or without authorization. "Fine. You arrest him, throw him in the brig and I'll get a blacksite ready for you. You'll ship out for it before daybreak tomorrow." Osman and the Commander signed off. With the holoprojector shutting down, the whole troop bay was cast in a slowly dying light.

* * *

Translations:

Sylas, auf mich. = Sylas, on me.

Guter hund, bereit zu jagen? = Good dog, ready to hunt?

Sylas, angehen. = Sylas, tackle

Sylas, loslassen. Auf mich. = Sylas release. On me.

Sylas, handgelenk. = Sylas, wrist.

* * *

**AN**

So yeah, it's been what three months now? This has been a slog to get through. I put myself in a position where there was a lot going on, but I had no real direction with it. Stack that with a return to work back in late August and I didn't get much time to work on this. Next chapter should be easier as I have a general plan of what will occur.


	13. Chapter 12: The Cost of Truth

This will be dark. You have been warned.

"Text" = Speech

"_Text" _= Hand Signs or Sign Language

'_Text' _= Thoughts

_Text _= Onomatopoeia

* * *

_**Chapter 12: The Cost of Truth**_

**September 30th, 2568**

**13:00 Local Time**

**Fort Keyes, Minerva, Lambda Rho System**

The members of Fireteam Phoenix were halfway across the base when Arrin had caught up to them. The first thing she noticed was the handgun Andrew was clenching. Then was his face, a blood-stained grimace. Green glass was still embedded in his skin. "Andrew! What the hell happened out there? Are you okay? What are you four doing?" Andrew wasn't even looking at her when he responded.

"Stay outta the way Doc. I've got work to do." The Spartan kept moving, he wouldn't let that bastard slip away. Spook or not, justice would befall the man who'd wronged so many innocent soldiers. Arrin grabbed hold of his arm, her eyes pleading that he just speak. That he didn't regress back to the silent machine that she had met all those years ago. Sylas growled at her. "Sylas, tritt zurück," the dog looked between his handler and the woman before lowering his head and keeping pace with the group. Andrew pulled his arm from Arrin's grip and kept on his way. Thermer pulled her aside to talk.

"Look, now is probably the worst time to try and keep him grounded. We just lost eight soldiers in an ambush, he damn near lost a fight with a Sangheili sword master and he knows exactly who coordinated the attack. We need him pissed off," Thermer's voice was tense. His body ached from the explosion that sent him tumbling earlier. He depolarized his visor and locked eyes with Arrin. "Look, we're taking the bastard into custody and then transferring to a blacksite before sun up tomorrow. Whether he's backed by the military or not, he was gonna do this. This is what he wants, and if anyone stands in his way, he'll kill them."

"So what, are you just going to indulge the monster he already believes he is? You're just going to let him do every horrible thing ONI taught him? For what? Justice? Retribution? You're letting him lose so much progress!" Arrin couldn't wrap her head around why they'd let him do this. What drove them to let Andrew go off the reservation. Her distress was put to rest when the man in question spoke. "This man has the blood of the innocent on his hands. He brought terrorists into a civilian zone and let them wreak havoc. This man has the blood of fifty-three dead men and five injured on his hands. He deserves a fate worse than what I'll give him. Sometimes to hunt a monster one must take on properties of their prey. I'm putting an end to the bloodshed he's causing. Get in our way and I'll be seeking a new doc, clear?"

Arrin stared on as the group carried on their way. The shock of Andrew's final statement still settling, she couldn't do much more than open and close her mouth like a fish.

* * *

**13:04**

**Fort Keyes O.N.I. Building**

Two MPs stepped aside as Phoenix entered the obsidian building. O.N.I. had built a motif of darkness and mystery around themselves, but even the four of them found that the Office could be rather on the nose with it. Two more MPs greeted the Spartans inside, "Fireteam Phoenix, we'll be escorting you to Agent Henshaw. Right this way." They were led to a bank of elevators and the group split in two in order to fit everyone. Still the elevators were cramped, Spartans in full MJOLNIR could easily be up to two and a half times the size of a normal human.

The groups stepped out of the elevators onto the fifth floor and reconvened before turning down a long corridor. The MPs were noticeably uncomfortable with the team's silence. Only the sounds of shifting armor, footsteps and Sylas' nails on the smooth granite floor could be heard. They stopped at a door halfway down the corridor. "Henshaw is just inside. I believe he's overseeing an operation right now." Andrew nodded and the MPs turned away.

All but Andrew stacked up at the door, he stood right in front of it as it slid open. Raising Bunsen and pointing the scarred pistol straight at Henshaw's chest, he stepped into the Ops Center. The agent didn't even acknowledge that the door had opened. "Clayton Henshaw, you are hereby under military arrest. Your crimes include theft of military property, black market distribution of said military property, espionage, and aiding and abetting terrorists. Put your hands behind your head now. You will receive a lawyer and trial before a military tribunal." Henshaw stepped away from the command table and complied with Andrew's orders. Thermer patted the disgraced analyst down and cuffed him. King stepped up and stripped Henshaw of his rank.

"How's the party in New Sydney?" Henshaw didn't see the punch coming. Sam's blow sent the man to the floor in a heap. The silence was unbearable. The other agents in the room looked around confusedly, unsure of what to do next. Their silent question was answered by Andrew. "Pull the plug on your op. Whatever Henshaw had you doing, pull it. Your ground team is in danger. Henshaw's been in bed with the innies for a while now. Get those troops out."

* * *

**October 1st, 2568**

**09:30 Local Time**

**O.N.I. Blacksite, Designation: Foxhole**

Henshaw's eyes tried desperately to adjust as the canvas bag was pulled off his head. The blinding white lights seared after hours of darkness. As his brain frantically tried to pull his senses together a seemingly distant voice called out to him. His left cheek welled with pain and the room finally came into focus. It was dull grey with two doors on opposite ends. He was placed in the middle of the room atop the only chair. Near one door was a table cluttered with what seemed like random tools and objects. The voice spoke his name again. "Henshaw."

Andrew stood nearby. His cuts had been stitched and bandaged closed. Despite the signs that the Spartan wasn't immortal, the visage of the damage and his steely gaze made the man that much more intimidating. "Welcome to your new home, Clayton. You'll be spending the rest of your life in two rooms. This is the interrogation room, the other is your cell. It's time to face the music and own up. I'll be back in a moment." Andrew walked through the door by the table. Henshaw looked around at his surroundings again. Underneath his chair was a small drain in the floor. Near the door to what was presumably his cell was an observation window. Through it he could a room painted in plain white and furnished likewise. There was a toilet and shower stall in one corner, against a wall was a bed, and in the middle of the room a desk and chair.

Andrew reentered the room with King in tow. The two set up a small desk with video communication equipment right in front of Henshaw. Once it was ready, King opened a line and waited. Serin Osman appeared on the screen. She looked over the disgraced analyst contempt was painted across her face. Andrew walked up to Henshaw's chair and rested a hand on the back of it. "Admiral, nice of you to join us this morning. We were just explaining to Clayton that this would be one of two rooms where he'd spend the rest of his life."

"Cut the shit Andrew. Let's talk shop, I'm going to presume that this will go in your file of missing records. First, I want to know whether or not you're going to hold this over the Office's head like you normally do. Secondly, you have my permission to do anything you need to get intel out of him, after which I want you to kill him. Make that part painful."

"Look Osman, can I call you that? Doesn't matter, here's the short and skinny of it. Everything your Office has me do goes in the burnt records. All of it. However, this one is free. Clayton here tried to get me killed three times. Clayton turned a city into a fucking warzone. Clayton is gonna suffer before I kill him. Now, I think he needs to know what happened once his friends got to work yesterday." The video feed split in two. Osman on one side, and the news feed from New Sydney on the other. The aerial view showed smoke rising from the streets all across the city. Civilian recordings depicted car bombs and rockets, police and Army pushing back the tide of insurrection forces. Then the attack on the parade. The trucks slamming into each other. The fuel cells exploding. It ended on the only hopeful note, Phoenix reuniting the woman with her son.

Henshaw had been completely silent throughout. His eyes were wide with shock and his jaw slack. He hung his head low. This was far more damage than they were supposed to cause. This was too much. They weren't even the people they claimed to be. "They told me they were Keepers when I made contact with them. They were only supposed to target you, police precincts and recruitment offices."

"That's all fine and dandy Henshaw, but they ain't fucking Keepers of the One Truth! You brought the 'Verse damned Red Hand into the most densely populated area on the planet! Eight soldiers dead. Five more injured. Fifty-seven police officers dead, twenty three in critical condition. Over one hundred civilians either dead or missing. This is all on you," Andrew was centimeters away from Henshaw's face. His bright green eyes bored into Clayton's pale blue. "So tell me, why'd ya do it?"

Clayton didn't speak. He sat silent for a few minutes before Andrew straighten out and turned his attention to King. They whispered something and King went to the table. "Hammond, playback King's helmet footage. Start three seconds before he meets the child. Clayton, I want you to pay attention to this. Then I'll ask you again."

The video feed split once more, this time playing from King's perspective. It played from when King noticed the blip on his motion tracker until he put the child in the VIP vehicle. The kid's sobbing filled the otherwise silent room. It skipped to when Brandon retrieved the child and played until the two ran to the cafe. Andrew asked his question again and was met with silence. After a minute he looked at Osman and then at King. "Well bud, I guess it's time to put up the mask of the noble man. Do me a favor and break his left shin with that bat. Nothing with bone jutting out though."

"Happy to oblige," King took up the bat and spun it in one hand. Getting a feel for its weight and balance the irate Spartan sauntered over to Henshaw. In one swift motion he cracked Clayton across the shin. The man howled in pain. All of the air in his lungs left and he panted heavily to catch his breath. Andrew untied the leg from the chair and put an auto-splint around it. The device pump air into itself until the broken limb was held firmly between the metal plates on its inner circumference.

"If you don't want to talk, we're just gonna keep hurting you. Mentally or physically it doesn't matter. You'll crack eventually. I've got a feeling that's all from you for today though. Hammond, keep the news of the attacks playing in his cell. I want him to know the depth of his sin." The dumb AI complied and the Spartans tossed Clayton into his cell.

"You want to fill me in on why you broke his leg?"

"I don't want him to have hope of escaping, Osman. I want him to feel helpless. I want him to be easy to manipulate. To break a man is to crush his spirit. What better way than to strip him of hope?"

"You don't find that a bit excessive?"

"I've done worse before asking anything. We'll see you in a couple of days when we try again. Until then he's on solitary." Andrew cut the comm-link. King walked over and grabbed Andrew by the collar.

"What makes you think you have the right to do that?"

"I needed you in a state of mind where you'd do anything to the man responsible for what we dealt with. I needed him to understand just what he'd done," Andrew pried King's hand away. "You all agreed to come help me with this. If you don't like it then you can go back to base and wait for the rest of us. I never said it was gonna be a walk in the park. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal."

* * *

**October 5th, 2568**

Andrew dreaded the conversation to come. He always dreaded that talk. He had been notified the day before that one of widows of the Vanguard team wanted to speak with him. He sat in front of the comms terminal anxiously. As the call connected Andrew prepared for the same thing he'd seen time and time again. A bleary-eyed woman who'd been crying. Streaked make-up and bedraggled hair. What he saw when the image came through wasn't what he'd expected. She wore no make-up, her hair was kempt and her glare was hateful.

Her voice came through clear as day. There was an unsettling calm to it, as though every word was meticulously laid out in her mind. She didn't falter. She didn't waver. She spoke with measured breath, "Did he suffer? Did he feel what happened to him?"

"No ma'am. Not as far as I know. If you'd like I can tell you everything that happened up to your husband's death," she nodded at him and the Spartan spoke again. "Your husband was part of a unit designated Vanguard One. Their task was to drive the lead vehicle in a small political parade. Nothing was supposed to happen as we went from New Sydney's Capitol building to a local space port that had been cordoned off and reserved for a Sangheili diplomat. First Sergeant Sangrove's vehicle entered the intersection of 1st and 43rd. A box truck coming down 43rd slammed through the barricades and crashed in Sangrove's vehicle. No civilians were harmed but all of Vanguard One were unconscious.

"We set a defensive perimeter around the VIP. A man brandishing a rifle jumped from the box truck and was immediately killed by Spartan Thermer, my team leader. I was given orders to open fire on the box truck and complied. I reloaded and gave Vanguard Two orders to check on Vanguard One. Once the team was confirmed to be alive, I ordered Two to remove them from the wreckage and get to safety. As soon as the words left my mouth I heard a characteristic _Thunk _sound. Before I could tell them to get out of there, a forty-millimeter grenade bounced off the asphalt and detonated the fuel cells on Vanguard One's vehicle. The explosion chained to the box truck. They all died in the explosion. I'm sorry I couldn't bring Sangrove home safely."

"Sorry won't bring him back."

"No, it won't. It won't bring back any of the people I've failed to bring home. It won't make these conversations any easier. It won't ease the guilt. I gave an order that got more people killed. I'm not sure if their lives were well spent or wasted in doing so. That's the burden of leadership."

"You say 'these conversations' like you've had to do this before."

"More times than I can count."

"Why do you accept the calls?"

"Widows and widowers deserve some sense of closure."

"Isn't there anyone else who can take them."

"Not when you want to speak with the one in charge when they died."

"I see. Thank you, Spartan. I think that's all I need. Good bye."

* * *

**October 8th, 2568**

"C'mon Henshaw just tell us how to contact them." Andrew removed the rag from the man's face and let him catch his breath. So far, the man hadn't been very compliant with questioning.

"I told you I don't fucking remember!" Andrew nodded to Thermer who jabbed Clayton with a cattle prod. Electricity arced across the man's drenched body. As soon as Thermer stopped, the rag went right back over Clayton's mouth and more water was poured over his face. For good measure Andrew knocked the wind out of the man and waited for a moment.

"I don't know. For the love of God, I don't know." Andrew unstrapped him from the table and let him stand up. The Spartan grabbed a towel and tossed it to the man.

"Strip down and dry off. Then take a seat in the chair. Thermer, secure him once he's in it. I need to go grab something." Andrew went back upstairs and came down a moment later with a fuel can. Henshaw was strapped down and waiting. Andrew drenched the man in fuel and went to the table near the door.

"We're going to try this again. You tell me how we get in touch with your innie contact and you get to live. Thermer, you're dismissed." The Spartan turned around holding an incendiary grenade.

"Excuse me Spartan?" Osman sounded both confused and irritated.

"I don't want to waste my time with a useless subject."

"I don't know! Admiral, you can't let him do this!" Andrew set the timer on the grenade to ten seconds. He pulled the pin and set it under the chair. Andrew left the room and waited just outside the door, leaving it ajar as to hear the man's desperate pleas. With three seconds left to a fiery death Henshaw screamed out.

"You don't find him! He finds you! I used the chatter net to find local innies!" The grenade never went off. Andrew stepped back into the room and picked the grenade up. Henshaw's eyes were as wide as dinner plates as the Spartan unstrapped him.

"There's a reason I keep duds. Thank you for your cooperation. Go take a shower."

Henshaw ran into his cell and immediately went to the shower. Meanwhile the Admiral was staring Andrew down.

"Mind explaining that to me?"

"Fear is an excellent motivator when it comes to telling the truth. Especially the fear of death."

"He's not going to fall for that twice."

"I don't need him to. I have other methods."

"I'm not sure I like what that implies."

"Nobody ever does. Goodnight, Admiral. Don't let the skeletons in the closet scare you too much."

* * *

**October 12th, 2568**

Andrew sat in the common room of the blacksite waiting for Sam and King to return from patrol. The elevator for the bunker chimed as it came down to their level. The two entered the room and set their weapons on the rack by the door. Their jackets were the next to be set aside.

"Hey, I need you two to stay here. We need to have a team chat."

"Alright," Sam affirmed as the two sat down across from him. Thermer entered the room and sat down with Sam and King.

"It's come to my attention that two of you don't like my methods. King, Thermer, you've both made it clear in your own ways that you don't like this. I never said that this would be easy to do. I never said that what I do is morally just. You were the ones that said we needed me to be this. That we needed me to cross that thin grey line. I agree. This needed to happen. I needed to be the one to get answers.

"You asked to help me. You volunteered to come here. You wanted to learn what I do. I use anger and fear, isolation, sensory deprivation and over stimulation to break people down and give me the answers I want. It isn't what you thought it would be. That's fine. But here's where I draw a line. You don't get you show that around him. If you can't stand it, pack your shit and go back to Fort Keyes. You don't address what happens in that room. This is the cost of truth. You sacrifice a part of yourself for this."

"You used that kid to make me pissed enough to break his leg. You didn't even ask him anything. That's what you call acceptable?"

"First, I did ask him something. Second, no. I call it a necessary evil."

"You doused him in fuel and made him think he'd die in a hole. Was that necessary?"

"It got results. I've already got a few hits on chatter net."

"That's all you have to say on it? What the hell happened to you? You always talk about how you hated doing this. You try to keep physical damage to a minimum in the field and now you don't even seem to care. Just who the hell do you think you are," Thermer exclaimed.

"Arrin warned us about this," Sam spoke up. "She told you he could regress. You should be happy he's even considering your feelings and giving you an out."

"Thank you, Sam. He's right. This is how I was before the team. Before the meds. Before therapy. You've got an out. Request me transferred off the team if you want. Otherwise, deal with it."

* * *

**October 20th, 2568**

Andrew leaned on the wall waiting for Henshaw to look at him. Osman was growing impatient.

"Can we just start already? I have other business to attend to."

"Sure. Let's see here. We've addressed that he made contact with them through chatter net. He redirected our supply vessels under the guise of a special operation. He used his clearance to help them move weapons into New Sydney. The only question left is why."

Henshaw looked up at the two. The last two weeks had been utter hell. He understood why the Spartan had his reputation. The cuts and chemical burns that littered his body ached. The recent white noise treatment had nearly pushed him over the edge. He was about to speak when Andrew began to answer his own question.

"Judging from the holostills we found in your quarters, you wanted revenge for what happened on New Harmony. You had family in that cell. You wanted to do what we did to them. Destroy us from the inside out. Didn't you?"

"Yes. My uncle was the commander."

"I bet you wanted to be just like him some day. A big, strong man who stood up to the system?"

"Yes."

"Your uncle wasn't as strong or smart as you think."

"What do you know about him?"

"I know that he died, begging on his knees. I know that he didn't have the brain to look into the one man he was suspicious of."

Henshaw glared at Andrew in defiant silence.

"You know my nickname? Let me tell you how I got it. My first assignment was to infiltrate a rebel cell and tear it down from the inside out. The leader didn't trust me and called me a viper in the grass. Do you know what type of venom vipers use?"

"Hemotoxins."

"Very good. Most people don't get that right. I even lie about it to see if people know the truth. Anyway, hemotoxins destroy blood cells and spread necrosis through the body. It's a slow, agonizing process and that's exactly what I did. I poisoned their minds, destroyed their structure from the inside. That cell rotted away and when the time came, the UNSC swallowed them whole. I kept the nickname. It suited me."

"What does that have to do with my uncle?"

"He gave it to me. He died, begging me to spare him. Arrest him. Anything but take the shot. I pulled the trigger without a second thought."

"Spartan, I think you've had enough fun. When you're ready, you know what to do."

"Aye aye Admiral."

* * *

**October 22nd, 2568**

Andrew's leather jacket did little to block the late fall chill. It wasn't that the Sherpa lining wasn't warm, just that the wind blew through everything. Henshaw stood in front of him. An empty shallow grave sat behind the traitor.

"So, this is it? The end of the line?"

"Yup."

"Let's get this over then."

"It won't be quick. Don't be so eager to start."

Andrew pulled his handgun from the holster under his jacket. The scarred weapon was more menacing than Henshaw remembered. He didn't feel the round hit. Just the searing pain after as the incendiary round cauterized his wound. Clayton dropped to his knees, unable to cry out in pain. Andrew kneeled in front of him. He didn't know when the Spartan pulled the knife from its sheath, only that it was dangerously close to his solar plexus. Then there was the piercing. His chest froze up. He couldn't breathe anymore. Panic set in.

"This is the hardest part. The waiting. Don't worry it won't last long. I won't make you suffer too long."

The Spartan stood back up and waited for a minute. It was the longest minute of Henshaw's life. Andrew kept firing until the man fell back into the grave. He spent the next hour burying Henshaw. This wasn't what he planned on doing for his birthday.

* * *

Translations:

Sylas, tritt zurück = Sylas, stand down.

Notes:

So yeah, this got pretty dark. Next chapter will be a little lighter in tone. Andrew's investigation isn't over quite yet, but I think the crew deserves a little R&R first.


	14. Chapter 13: Recovery

This is a dialog heavy chapter. Don't expect any action.

"Text" = Speech

"_Text" _= Hand Signs or Sign Language

'_Text' _= Thoughts

_Text _= Onomatopoeia

* * *

_**Chapter 13: Recovery **_

**October 31st, 2568**

**21:13 Local Time**

**Night Club, New Sydney, Minerva, Lambda Rho System**

"For a Spartan, you pull off the gun for hire look quite well." Andrew was dragged from his thoughts as the reporter sauntered over to him. As with most people in the club, she was dressed up for the holiday. Her mid-20th century journalist get up was a far cry from the typical costumes out there.

"What are you talking about? These are my casual clothes."

"Really? You just casually wear a leather jacket, cargo pants and titanium toed boots?"

"Yeah. This is my style. Care for a drink or are you gonna berate me all night?"

"I suppose I'll join you. So, where's the rest of your team? I'd have thought they'd be here with you." The reporter took a seat next to Andrew at the bar. She noticed that sitting down, he didn't appear as imposing as he was the first time they met and much less so than in his armor.

"Thermer and King both have family to talk to. We don't get many chances to phone home. They take every second of that time they can get."

"What about you and Sam?"

"Sam? I dunno. His parents are gone, but I'm not sure if peanut boy has people elsewhere. Me, I ain't got anyone."

"Peanut Boy?"

"Yeah, Sam's allergic to peanuts. It's really fun to fuck with him and hit him with an EpiPen."

"That sounds really cruel."

"That's our dysfunctional little family." Andrew paused and took a swig from the bottle of whiskey in front of him. "Lemme guess, you're a classier kinda cocktail? Something like a gin martini or a Manhattan?"

"You seem to have me all figured out, don't you?"

"Not yet. I haven't figured out why you seem to pop up wherever I am."

"Isn't it obvious? Phoenix seems to be where the story is at. The whole city is cheering your team on. Which leads me to the question, where have you been for the last month?"

"Classified."

"Doing what?"

"Top secret."

"Not even gonna give me a hint?"

"I'd have to kill you."

"Careful, you might cut yourself on that edge Spartan."

"Alright reporter, I was in a place that does not exist. I was questioning a man who does not exist. After getting answers to non-existent questions, I ended the man's non-existence. Happy?"

"The name is Alex, and no. I'm not."

"Name's Andrew, and I figured. That's all you're gonna get, though." Andrew passed her drink to her and felt a buzz on his wrist. Checking his Chatter the Spartan found a single message: _"Let's play a game, Spartan."_

"What's that," Alex inquired.

"It's my Chatter. Y'know, ChatterNet."

"I know what a Chatter is, Andrew. What I want to know is the message."

"Work related."

"Secret?"

"Yes."

"You're no fun," she jokingly pouted. Her train of thought jumped tracks as she remembered a question that had been rattling in her mind for a month. "During the parade fight there's a clear split in the way you fight. What happened back there? Why go from playing cat and mouse to hand to hand?"

"Kill the recording."

"Huh?"

"If you want to know, kill the recorder. This never sees public eyes or ears. Copy?" Alex put a hand in her purse and shut off her COM pad.

"Happy?"

"Yes. As you already know, I'm a Spartan-III. We were designed to be easily replaced wads of rage and sexual frustration. There were three companies; Alpha, Beta and Gamma. That's why our tags have a letter before the numbers. Any radio chatter involving me would be Sierra Gamma One Niner Niner. Gammas were given a couple extra augments that induce a state of bipolar rage when under extreme duress. You saw me playing with my target, forcing him to panic. I wanted to open his guard up enough to take him out with as little collateral as possible. He shattered my visor and nearly cost me an eye. That pushed me over the edge. From there I went to my most base survival instincts, kill or be killed. At that point I don't think and often times have difficulty distinguishing friendly from foe."

"So that's why you had that stare."

"Trembling hands too. You probably saw me use some sort of syringe after the fight. Those are a set of chems to counteract the bipolar integration. It gets worse over time and the dosage is constantly increasing. Eventually it'll force me into retirement. One way or another."

"Don't they remove augments when you guys retire," Alex threw her hands out wide. Her confusion was painted on her face. Andrew was quick bring her hands back down on the bartop and start speaking gibberish. Planets he'd 'visited,' things he'd claimed to do, et cetera. It lasted forty-five seconds.

"Please try not to look too excited. ONI is watching. They won't listen unless you look like an issue. To answer your question, this can't be undone."

"Excuse me ma'am is this guy giving you trouble. I'd gladly take out this trash for you," a third party cut in. His voice had a familiar Slavic accent to it. Was it the same crew from last winter? The man put a hand on Andrew's shoulder. Alex saw Andrew's eyes narrow.

"No, no, just a misunderstanding. Really, everything is fine."

"You best remove that hand before I do it for you." The man tightened his grip. It felt like the recoil of his battle rifle; slight pressure. The Spartan stood up and faced the smaller man. Black pants, white shirt, black sports jacket. Yup, it was them. Standing at 205.7cm he towered over the disruptive man.

"Wait … you're the guy who fucked with us last winter. Didn't you learn your lesson back then?"

"Last I checked, three of your boys ended up in the ER and I got off with self-defense."

"You won't be getting off with anything this time." The man's knife had barely cleared his pocket before Andrew kicked him across the dance floor and into the lounges. Andrew returned to his seat and picked up his bottle.

"You pulled that didn't you?"

"Yyyyup."

"He's going to get friends isn't he?"

"Mhm."

"You have a gun don't you."

"Yes ma'am."

"This is going to be fun."

Two minutes later the agitated man returned, Andrew's boot print covering a large portion of his chest. A few other men accompanied him. "Come with us, now."

"Oh, I like these odds. Chances are I disable three of you before anyone else gets a shot off."

"Boss wants to speak. No gunfight today cowboy. Lady comes too. Let's go." The men led Andrew and Alex to a VIP lounge. A group of men stopped them and patted Andrew down. He held a hand out for the Spartan's weapons.

"Not happening. Your boss wants to talk, we'll talk, but I'm keeping my weapons." The man looked back towards a woman in the lounge. She nodded and the bodyguard stepped aside. Andrew and Alex stepped in. The woman looked the Spartan up and down. She seemed to set aside whatever disbelief she previously held.

"You are a troublesome man. You know this, yes?"

"Usually I'm told that I'm dangerous."

"What makes you think that you can bring harm to my men in my city? Last I checked, mercenaries like you come through me for work."

"Your men seem to like starting shit with me. I just wanna have a peaceful drink. Also, what makes you people think I'm a merc? Are you people willfully ignorant of my patch?"

"You'll watch your tongue in my presence. If you wouldn't mind, please go ahead and tell us what that patch is supposed to mean."

"UNSC, Spartan Branch, Fort Keyes Division, Fireteam Phoenix. Spartan Andrew-G199. I'll speak however I damn-well please, ma'am."

"You're joking right?"

"Why the hell would I lie about my identity?" She waved off Andrew's question and looked around at her men. Her expression deadpanned.

"You idiots are holding a grudge against a local hero? You've actively attacked a Spartan! You twits are going to bring the whole military down on us!"

"Look, I don't care about your operation. In fact, you're more useful to me than you realize."

"How is that?"

"You're the underground right? You have a vast intelligence network that I need access to."

"Why would we work with you?"

"The UNSC is tearing this city apart looking for any sign of the Red Hand. That makes your work very difficult doesn't it? I need intel on the Red Hand in this system. I can make them ease up on you guys in exchange for whatever you've got."

"How can I trust you? Just minutes ago, you were more than happy to get in a shootout with my men."

"Look, I've done business like this on at least six other planets in the last fifteen years. All of my former contacts are still kicking, and if they're not, I wasn't the one to kill them. If I intend on taking you down, I'll tell you."

"So, you think that just easing interference will be enough for us to risk our necks?"

"I know that your informants are independent from your organization. You take on no risk. Their safety is guaranteed and I get the intel I need to track down the bastard that ordered the deaths of civilians."

"You make a compelling argument, but what about the people inside your organization that helped the attack happen?"

"Shallow grave in the middle of nowhere. Took care of that roach nine days ago. Here's my contact." Alex looked at Andrew in shock as he handed the woman a slip. That was what he meant earlier? That he killed a man for what happened. She was in over her head.

"Deal. Nothing spoken here leaves this room. You got that, reporter?" Alex nodded slowly. She was still processing what was happening here. Andrew was definitely not the hero she thought he was. Shady dealings with criminals and murder? This wasn't the story she was hoping to find.

* * *

**November 4th, 2568**

**13:00 Local Time**

**Fort Keyes**

"Boss, why haven't we gotten any action?"

"Maybe because you keep scaring the women off, Sam."

"Very funny. Seriously though, we've been back almost two weeks and nothing. We aren't even allowed to train with our armor."

"Well, wouldn't be fair to let us train without Andrew. His gear was pretty fucked up after New Sydney."

"It should be fixed by now. Besides we were just told to report to armor bay. Speaking of the big guy, where is he?"

"I thought you'd know Boss?"

"Last I knew he was at a meeting with the Commander and CINCONI."

"Thanks King. Glad to know. Has he said anything about the investigation?"

"Something about local contacts and a message. He wants to secure the investigation for us before he gives all the details on it. I don't blame him. We've been burned by the office a few too many times."

"I'm surprised Osman went along with his crazy plan. Speaking of, I think we owe him an apology."

"Why's that Sam?"

"You know why, Boss. We made a job that's hard for him that much harder. We questioned his methods and motives. Made him doubt us and himself. He crossed that line for us."

"Don't get all sappy on us now peanut boy."

"Go fuck yourself, King."

"That's better."

"Clamp it, we're here." The three entered the armor bay and found that Andrew had beaten them to it. His COM-Pad poked up out of his cargo pocket. Clearly, he'd come right after the meeting. He waved to the others as they came in. One of the armor techs motioned for them to hurry up.

"About damn time you show up. I'll keep this short. We hate you four. You constantly come in with damage we can't explain. Phoenix Two, you let a Sangheili shatter your visor. Several plates took significant heat damage and actually melted. Phoenix Actual, there were micro cracks in your armor from concussive shock. You can't just weld that together; the whole plate has to be replaced. This armor costs about as much as a Paris Class Frigate and you assholes get in fights that force us to replace more armor than we should.

"That's why we partnered with Materials Group to make supplemental armor patterns based on your combat data. Thermer, over here we've got your armor. You and King use mix matched suits so we had some issues with yours. Your Spectre pattern supplementals feature a full COM Suite upgrade, CBRN filters and up armored plating on the helmet. Your chest has been up armored to prevent concussive damage along with the greaves. You've been given more pouches for extended field work. You'll be able to tap your team's sensor array and provide real time updates to their HUD. Just general upgrades really.

"Spartan-G199, for you, we have the Bothrops pattern. You're a glass cannon. This heavily reinforces the chest, left shoulder, right forearm and greaves. You can carry more ammo than you will ever need. Your helmet features CBRN filters and an auxiliary sensor paired to your ARTEMIS and the net system you've got. We have also disabled the upper limit to your force multipliers; while the upper limit saves Spartan-IVs from hurting themselves, it restricts you. You'll be able to take more damage before sustaining injury, set up a larger surveillance net for your team and provide heavy suppression.

"King, you're a pain in the ass. Your _unique_ role as squad automatic and stealth infiltration is an oddity. We've retained the active camouflage module. The collapsible shield will be here when the op calls for it. Otherwise we've given you an enhanced sensor suite to compliment Andrew's system. The Nightfall helmet already features world class filtration systems so no added CBRN. Your chest is a lighter version of Andrew's upgrades, more focused on carry capacity than heavy defense. Your shoulders have been beefed up but don't restrict your movement. Same can be said of your gauntlets and greaves. It's also been given a prototype coating to help absorb radar and prevent detection. The Trailblazer pattern is made for your unique role.

"Sam, you like to hang back and take out targets from an angle no one expected. Your Longbow pattern will provide you with everything you need for this. A new sensor package has been installed on your helmet and can help take environmental factors off your mind. No need for a spotter with this. The CBRN filters will keep you safe in all combat zones. Chest upgrades eliminate weak points, but keep weight and obstruction to a minimum. Your left arm will be outfitted with armored panels. You have more mag pouches to keep you going. A small grapnel launcher will be provided to help get up to higher positions. This is all about keeping you mobile, protected and lethal."

Andrew walked up to his armor. Looking over it he could easily see the replacement parts. Their bright, untarnished paint stood out against the rest of the worn armor. He was glad to see the right shoulder remained intact. Having to paint his emblem all over again would have been annoying. The new collar was much larger than he expected. All in all, the armor was bulky, asymmetric and forbidding; a far cry from the slim hunters it was named after. "This plate on my elbows, it'll slide out of my way, right?"

"Yes, it will. All of this can be field stripped in case it becomes too damaged. Supplementals are easy to replace, the main armor is a whole other story."

"What the hell happened to my etching?!" The technician walked over to King and power cycled his armor. The visor's backlights flickered to life revealing a photoreactive film. The Sangheili's skull became clear as day.

"Light sensitive film over the visor allows you to maintain structural integrity while looking like a psychopath. We also had to create decals to replace the etchings of that poem on it. We wanted to keep your personal touches. The stealth coating required creative solutions. If you want to add anything, you'll have to pass it by us first."

Sam chose to test fit the armor for his left arm. The pieces clicked into place perfectly. Stretching his arm, he could tell it wouldn't obstruct his shot. It was light for combat rated armor, but it seemed to shift his center of balance slightly. It felt right, like it compensated for the weight the prosthetic lacked. The quick release buckles made it easy to shed them too. He didn't really care about the other upgrades; he learned his lesson back on Trost. The only thing that stood out was the wolf skull painted on his right shoulder. "Can't I just keep these plates on me at all times? They're weighted just right, it feels natural."

"No can do. You can get weighted covers for everyday use if you talk to the folks in the Med Wing."

"Can you at least get me the weight of each part? I hate how light this thing feels."

"That I can do." The technician watched as Thermer scrutinized his new gear. The hard lines of his supplemental plating contrasted with the smooth Stalker class armor in an oddly beautiful way. The small pinup painted on his shoulders was a bit of a surprise.

"Yeah, we took a look at your dossiers to give you each identifiable markings. Andrew and King were easy. They provided them for us. Yes, we did paint over your snake, made it a bit more permanent. Same goes for your tag and tallies up on the helmet, Andrew," the Spartan-III wasn't paying much attention anymore. The message on his Chatter had him preoccupied. An address, time and date from one "Mrs. J."

* * *

**November 8th, 2568**

**21:00 Local Time**

**New Sydney, Minerva**

"Mrs. J I presume," Andrew asked from his seat. The diner was small, secluded and in a district Andrew didn't frequent for a reason. Even through the jacket she wore Andrew could tell Mrs. J was more than an informant. She had an athletic build on par with any female marine, and carried herself in a manner that told him everything he needed to know.

"When our mutual friend said you were large I wasn't expecting someone the size of a Spartan. You would be," She asked as he sat down across from Andrew.

"You can call me Bothrops. No need to muddy this with our real names. Now, let's set aside the foreplay. We both have people outside ready to make a move if need be. Shall we call them off," Andrew smirked through his question. J nodded, they simultaneously put a hand sign up to the window. Across the street Sam eased his finger away from the trigger guard. _'Whatever you say big guy.'_

"So Bothrops, what exactly can I provide you with?"

"I need intel on Red Hand movements in this system. Where they hide their toys, where they hide their people, meeting places."

"Planning on joining the cause?"

"I heard that, put the gun on the table," J placed her weapon in front of her, a handgun the Spartan didn't recognize.

"Very observant, that doesn't answer my question."

"I plan on poisoning the movement. Break it down, piece by piece. So, we in business?"

"You and I, Spartan, have a deal. Don't act surprised, only a Spartan would've heard that."

"What's the price?"

"Five hundred up front, two thousand for every transaction we make going forward."

"I expected more to be honest. What makes your intel so cheap?"

"Harder to track me if I'm not banking massive paydays."

"Fair enough," Andrew tapped a few things into his Chatter then handed over a plastic card. "Twenty-five hundred. Consider it a token of good faith."

"Physical transfer, even better. I appreciate your business, Bothrops, you'll be seeing more of me in the future."

* * *

**November 14th, 2568**

**12:00 Local Time**

**Fort Keyes, Minerva**

It had been a while since Fireteam Phoenix last stood in the Commander's office. McKnight wanted to know the progress of the investigation before Andrew reported to O.N.I.

"What have you been able to come up with Andrew?"

"Well, I was able to draw up a deal with the Slavic underground in New Sydney. You've already heard that I've made the Army slow up with their activities in the city. This has gotten me access to their network of informants. I've already made a deal with one. Mrs. J has provided a set of coordinates, claiming a weapon cache can be located. Satellite feeds cross referenced with local history tells us that the Red Hand is using an old Nomolos Mining town to hide the cache. It'll likely be in one of the residency buildings. If we're going to hit it, we'll need to approach it from the desert. No dropship, no MJOLNIR."

"Why not bomb it from the air?"

"Too obvious, they'll know we were on to them. They'll start targeting anyone sifting through the slush. I don't want to lose my network before I have it fully operational. Small team goes in, detonates the cache and gets out of there as fast as possible. Maximum damage minimal casualty rate."

"Minimal?"

"Make it look like an accident. You're thinking the way Spartan Branch wants you to. We have overwhelming firepower. Why not use it? Look at what happened in the late 20th and early 21st centuries. United States and Russian involvement created insurgencies in the Middle East. For over 40 years the US fought these groups with little success and high casualty rates despite having superior tech and training. We need to think and fight like the people we're fighting. Deliver fatal strikes, but stay hidden and mobile."

"Is this experience or the Office talking?"

"Both, we all know what I had to do in Operation OUTCAST. The insurrection there kept attacks small and hard to predict, but each one hurt the local garrison. VIPER'S FANG failed because we were too large a force to hide on entry. We can't afford to screw this up."

"What do you think Spartan Thermer?"

"I agree with Andrew. As a former ODST, I have my fair share of combat behind enemy lines. You don't want to make your presence known until you've hurt them."

"Very well. Andrew, I want a full write up. All intel you have. Thermer, help him come up with a plan of attack. Sam, King, try to figure out how you two can provide support. Sylas will be staying here for this op. Dismissed."

"Yes ma'am," the team spoke in unison and headed off to the barracks.

* * *

**November 19th, 2568**

**17:00 Local Time**

**Fort Keyes, Minerva**

"How much longer do you think they'll take drawing up this plan?"

"I don't know, Sam," King replied through a mouth full of food. The two sat at the usual table their team occupied, though it felt rather empty without the others. Andrew and Thermer had been working day in and day out to get the plan done.

"At least we know our roles to some capacity. I guess that's a silver lining."

"Are you gonna eat or not, Sam? If you aren't can I have your tray? This is actually edible."

"Really? Is that all you're focused on?"

"Ain't any sense in rackin' our brains over something like this. They'll let us in when they need to."

"Let you in on what," another Spartan asked as she walked by.

"Above your pay-grade lady," Sam remarked flippantly.

"I wasn't asking you, Johnny-One-Arm," Sam stood up and marched over to her. He almost got a word out before a hand planted itself on his chest and pushed him back.

"As my teammate said, above your pay-grade. Now, unless you want to end up in the brig under suspicion of espionage, I recommend you sit your ass down and mind your damn business," Andrew wasn't up for any antics today. The last four days going over his intel and scrapping plan after plan with Thermer had seriously drained the two.

"The hell was that for Andrew? I can handle myself!"

"Sam, eat your damn food. We need to head to cartography after we're all done and go over the plan. It's fucking dumb as hell but it may just work."

"Wait. You guys have a working plan," King asked.

"Sort of, you'll see," Thermer replied. The team continued to eat in relative silence. The food wasn't too bad. It was hard to fuck up meat, mashed potatoes and gravy, but the military wasn't exactly known for five-star dining. The trip to cartography was a little more energetic, Sam wanted details and Andrew couldn't help but fuck with the sniper. Once they acquired a map room far enough from prying eyes Andrew synced a data-pad to the holotable.

"Operation: SUCKERPUNCH is going to take place next month. You can see our target location here, a small mining village located in the inland desert. We have three possible objectives here," three buildings on the map lit up red. The rest sunk into the terrain, leaving only their outlines. "The two housing complexes and garage are our objectives. Can either of you tell me why the housing complexes?"

Sam and King looked over the map briefly and whispered to each other. King spoke what they believed, "Rubble around the Southern complex indicates that they've been stripped down to the studs. That confirms Andrew's suspicion about them being used as store houses. The rubble around there indicates that they're attempting to prevent something from puncturing the wall. That's the weapons cache. The Eastern complex is likely their rations and non-food supplies. The garage is obvious, can't have them chasing us after we hit them."

Thermer nodded and zoomed the map out to show the surrounding area. A ridge overlooking the town lit up in a similar manner to the objectives in the town. "This is our staging area. After insertion we'll make our way to this ridge and spend two days observing the target. We'll mobilize at night and strike while most of them are asleep. We'll enter through the least guarded area in order to minimize hostile casualties. We are here to disrupt and destroy, not to exterminate. I'll let Andrew handle exactly how insertion will be handled."

"Thank you Thermer," Andrew tapped a few commands out on the data-pad causing the map to expand once again. The staging area was fairly small now, swallowed by the large inland desert that covered much of Minerva's largest continent.

"Gentlemen, this is where it gets stupid. We will be inserting under the cover of darkness. So, is anyone here familiar with skysurfing," Andrew's voice carried a tone of amusement as he looked around. Two points on the map lit up. A line connected all marked points, plotting their course through the desert.

"Here's the idea. We'll be pulling a HALO jump with a twist. The first point is our LZ. From here we travel to the second point where a transport hog will be waiting with our gear."

"That's half a klick between our LZ and the vehicle. That's a lot of wasted time," Sam interjected.

"That's where the skysurfing comes in. Skysurfing is a HALO jump while equipped with a specialized board. This board is used to perform aerial stunts and to smooth out landing. Our boards will allow us to dunesurf after making landfall. The topography shows that it's mostly downhill from our LZ to the hog."

"So, we're dropping like a bunch of civilians?"

"Yes."

"This is stupid," King voiced.

"Yup. We'll be running practice jumps this month. We'll need to be able to ditch our chutes almost immediately after touching down in order to maintain speed and get to the hog. I'll be turning the plan in tomorrow. We'll see what the commander and O.N.I think then."

* * *

**November 23rd, 2568**

**12:00 Local Time**

**Fort Keyes, Minerva**

Apart from the lights at each armor rig, the armor bay was fairly dark. The team figured it was to give the interviews a more intense backdrop than the machinery really provided. Why the team was called in for this when they had more important matters was beyond them, but orders are orders.

Thermer

"So, tell us a bit about yourself Spartan. Who's the man under the black and white armor?"

"I'm Spartan Jesse Thermer, the current leader of Fireteam Phoenix."

"Where did you come from and what led you here?"

"I was born on Reach. After my education I felt that the service would give me a sense of purpose. I was right. I started in the Marines, spent some time as an MP on Earth before becoming an ODST Scout Sniper. It wouldn't be until much more recently in my career that I became a Spartan."

"You said you lead Fireteam Phoenix. How long has the team been together and has it ever been difficult for the unit to maintain cohesion?

"Our unit formed on Trost about five years ago. We were split up shortly after being formed. Took a while to get the squad back together. Aside from some disagreements, we don't really have issues keeping cohesion. Occasionally we'll have arguments, but that happens with any unit."

"What's the hardest part of your job."

"Deciding what the right thing to do is. Sometimes you get orders that conflict with what you believe to be the right thing. You have to draw a line and then decide if it's worth crossing or not. Aside from that, reigning in my team's more eccentric traits."

"If someone asked if signing on with the UNSC was worth it, what would you say?"

"You'll never know unless you do it yourself. Some people aren't cut out for this lifestyle. If you're interested, sign on and try to make it through boot camp."

Andrew

"Would you like to tell us a little bit about yourself?"

"I'm Spartan Andrew-G199 and I serve as Explosive Ordnance Technician and MWD Handler for Fireteam Phoenix. This is my Military Working Dog, Sylas."

"We were given a long list of things that we aren't allowed to ask you about, why is that?"

"Due to the nature of my early career much of my record is highly classified."

"What exactly do you do as an Explosive Ordnance Technician?"

"My job is to identify potential explosive hazards and dispose of them. I also build bombs and handle explosive breaching. Sometimes I help teach the E.O.D units on base about the newer threats that Covenant Remnants or Insurrectionists may be fielding."

"Where did the snake motif come from?"

"Early in my career I was tasked with infiltrating and weakening an insurgency. Someone in the organization called me a 'snake in the grass' and a 'viper.' I chose to own the insult. It became my callsign for many years."

"In previous interviews you've stated that you're Thermer's second in command, is that correct?"

"Yes, Spartan Thermer will pass command to me should he find himself in a position where he can't command the unit. The most recent example being the New Sydney attack. Thermer gave me command of ground forces while he called for reinforcements."

"He mentioned that your team has some very eccentric traits. What do you think he meant by that?"

"Could be anything from our banter to my pyromania. King likes to intimidate his foes and will go to great lengths to scare people. Sam is well, Sam. He's probably the biggest jackass of us all."

"What do you consider the team to be."

"To the UNSC, we're an effective counter-insurgency unit. To me, we're a family. We've got each other's backs through thick and thin. I can count on my brothers to put a hundred percent in, and they can count on me to do the same."

"Where do you see yourself in the next ten years?"

"Hopefully retired and back home on Tribute."

King

"How about we start with an introduction?"

"I'm Spartan Brandon King and I provide Fireteam Phoenix with stealth reconnaissance and threat assessment."

"What are your thoughts on your squadmates?"

"They're my brothers. Thermer has a bit of stick up his ass sometimes, but he's got a mean streak. Andrew is a dangerous individual, but he's got some issues that make it difficult to read him. Sam is a show-off, we've had to rerun combat sims because of him before. Him and Andrew tend to butt heads, a lot."

"We've been told that you tend to intimidate your foes. Can you explain why?"

"Warfare is as psychological as it is physical. If I can force my enemy to drop arms and run away, that's one less person I have to worry about. It's also really funny if they piss themselves."

"How does your role work?"

"I sneak behind enemy lines and get a general idea of what they have. Whether they have squad automatic weapons, explosives, et cetera. Once I get the word, I surprise them by firing from their rear."

"So, what drove you to join the service?"

"Both my parents were Marines. I followed in their footsteps. Mom said I should join the Navy but I joined the Corps instead. I probably should've listened to her, but I'm glad I didn't."

"What's the hardest part of being a Spartan?"

"Keeping the other units around us safe. Something people don't consider is how much fire Spartans draw. It can make an already bad situation worse for the regular troops. Often times we have to push ahead and take the brunt of it to keep others safe. We're a double-edged sword."

Sam

"Why don't you tell us who you are."

"My name is Spartan Samuel Caster and I'm one of Fireteam Phoenix' Scout Snipers."

"One of?"

"Aside from being the team's leader, Thermer is a Scout Sniper. We'll typically provide overwatch for the other two when we can."

"What would you say is the fireteam's purpose?"

"We're a direct-action force tasked with combating insurrection activities. This could be militant uprisings in the colonies or Covenant Remnants. If it poses a risk to the safety of our settlements, it's a target."

"Do you feel anything when taking the shot?"

"All I feel is recoil. I don't have much sympathy for rebels. They're the reason I lost my arm. Most don't know how lucky they have it. They want the UEG to back off. Stop demanding resources. The UEG can't afford to do that though. We're still rebuilding what we lost in the war. I survived New Mombasa. I know how bad it can be."

"Andrew seems to think you're a jackass and King says you're a show off. Is there any truth to what they said?"

"I have my moments, just like everyone. If I can line up a shot and get two for the price of one, I will. Sure, I run my mouth a bit, but I'm no less effective than either of them. A good sniper is a force multiplier, just the same as a couple MGs."

"If you could go back and change anything, what would it be?"

"That's a rough one. I'd probably try to take out the sniper that put me out of commission back on Trost. If it weren't for Andrew's quick thinking, we may have not made it off-world. He cauterized the wound and blew one of the entrances to the building we were in. According to King, Andrew dragged me out of there with a broken leg. If I'd have found that gunman first, we'd all be in a lot better shape."

"It sounds like you've all taken a beating in your service."

"That tends to happen when you're the most dangerous unit your enemy could fight."

"What's your favorite thing to do off mission?"

"I like messing with the other troops on base. King and I often rope the other forces into some great bets."

"Are you allowed to do that?"

"Hey, if they accept the challenge, that's on them."

* * *

As I said lots of talking, no action, even spartans need a breather. Going forward I will be re-editing old chapters so that they're easier to read. Not sure when chapter 14 will be out, but it will have more of a focus on action.


	15. Chapter 14: Suckerpunch

_**Chapter 14: Suckerpunch **_

**December 2nd, 2568**

**22:04 Local Time**

**10,542 Meters AGL, Inland Desert, Minerva, Lambda Rho System**

They were already at terminal velocity. The wind rushed past as they fell from eleven kilometers above the surface of the vast desert. Andrew shifted his weight, pulling himself away from the team. "Kneeling down" he gripped the nose of his board and threw his weight back, launching himself into a backflip. His boisterous laughter came over TEAMCOM, causing Thermer to roll his eyes. They weren't here for fun, but he knew nothing would stop the other three from enjoying themselves.

"Go ahead and have some fun, but keep your eye on your altimeter. Remember 'chute deployment is at nine hundred and fourteen," As he predicted the others immediately jumped at the chance. Were it not for the restrictive wind he would have shaken his head at the silhouettes of the Spartans' aerobatic antics. The sound of Andrew's laughter was something else though. It didn't have the touch of malice that could be heard after he pranked someone, nor the unrestrained mania of him cutting loose on his enemies. This laugh was far simpler, it was boisterous and mirthful. He was getting a taste of civilian life and he was enjoying every millisecond. It wasn't long before Andrew rode the wind towards Thermer, motioning for him to join in on the fun.

"No can do, someone has gotta keep you guys alert. Seven thousand two hundred and counting," Thermer saw Andrew's shoulders drop as he pulled away. As much as he may have wanted to join in, someone had to be professional.

As they descended the Spartans' antics slowly ceased. The closer to the ground they got, the more their spacing seemed to resemble an actual drop formation. Eventually Thermer called out to them, "Nine fourteen, pop chutes and prepare for decel."

The four parafoils opened in near perfect sync. The wind filled the cells of the parachutes, forcing them into their winged shape. Andrew barked over the comms, "We'll be touching down in a little over two mikes, be prepared to lose the 'chute. The 'hog will pulse a waypoint for us once it lands. Immediately head for the waypoint."

Their landing was rough. The speed at which they hit the sand was higher than anticipated. The four Spartans slalomed down the dune, kicking up sand in their wake. Their practice over the last couple weeks had paid off in a big way. By the time the warthog touched down they had already cleared half the distance.

* * *

**December 3rd**

**10:27 Local Time**

Thermer and Sam had been watching the village for or a few hours now. King and Andrew were going over their supplies for the next few days. Thermer confirmed their observation, "Yup, guard rotation about every ninety minutes. Towers have marksmen."

"No snipers though, just DMRs. Seems weird for such an important cache," Sam stated.

"I miss the dog," King said.

"That came outta left fuckin' field. Anyway, I agree with you Sam. That's a bit odd, so was the increased movement around the objective last night." Andrew knew Sam was right. His work was cut off by a buzzing on his wrist. Andrew answered the call after synching his headset to the Chatter.

"Bothrops, you need to get out of there. It's not safe."

"Slow the hell down, J. What's happening?"

"The syndicate sold us out. They know you're after their camps. The Red Hand is coming after us. I don't know about the others, but I'm safe for now."

"Fuck, that complicates things. Look, it's too late for us to back out of this mission. We're just gonna have to adjust the plan."

"Just stay safe. I'll see you when- _CRASH! _Shit!" The call cut short.

"J! Fuck. We need to come up with a new plan before sundown."

"Why," Thermer asked.

"Fucking syndicate stabbed us in the back. All of those odd observations? They're because they know we're going for their camps. We need to come up with a new plan, execute it and get the fuck out tonight."

King closed the duffle he was sorting through and looked Andrew over. "Have you lost it? It took you and Thermer almost a week to come up with this. Isn't there an alternative?

"The alternative is we take Mrs. J's advice and leave."

"What do you think, Boss?"

"I think that they're starting to send motorized patrols. I think that this cache is too dangerous to be left alone. Sam, what are your thoughts?"

"You're right, patrols are leaving right now. Too many for us to get passed. If we were to run, it would have to be at night. May as well cause some chaos when we do," Sam replied dryly.

"That settles it. He hit them tonight and bolt. Sorry King, but you're the minority vote. Andrew, this was your plan from the get-go. I know you're already coming up with a new one. Spill it."

"Well it ain't no lie to say we thrive on chaos. I say we thrive. Their response to us will be complete chaos no matter what. We can take advantage of that. Create a hole in their defense by drawing it to one area, slip in the back, wire up the explosives at all three target buildings and bug out before they know what hit them."

"How exactly do we do that," Sam asked, far more interested now.

"King our flare shells have variable fuses, right?"

"Yeah. Wait, are you suggesting we bring them here?"

"We set the flares to stagger. Fire them off in different directions and head down there. We roll in like a patrol coming back home and boom, flares light up," Andrew confirmed

"We say that we're back in and need to resupply before joining the search," King cut in.

"They let us in, we wire up some C-12 at the targets, yoink some relay antennae and plant them on the way out," Sam said.

"By the time they find out what's going on, those buildings are long gone and we're out of there," Thermer finished. "If this works, I owe you a bottle."

* * *

**23:07**

So far, the plan had gone off without a hitch. The mess of Red Hand forces that had left the base were panicking. Pure chaos, this was Fireteam Phoenix's element. A guard stopped them as they rolled up to the Southern housing complex. "What are you four doing here? Don't you know what's going on?"

"Yeah we were on our way back when we saw the flares. If there really are that many out there then we need to stock up," Thermer had a decent poker face.

"Alright, c'mon, grab what you need and get back out there." Andrew couldn't believe that this was working. The four jumped out, letting the 'hog run idle. They had to stifle their shock as they walked into the building. Aside from load bearing walls the entire ground floor was full of shelves. Literal tons of ordnance lined the store house. Andrew immediately began searching for a damage pack. King started searching for the relay antennae.

"Andrew, did you know they'd have all of this," Thermer asked.

"No, this is … it's more than I expected. Let's stay on task. Help me find a damage pack or help King look for the relays."

"Copy. Sam, help Andrew, I'll help King."

"You got it, Boss."

Andrew's wrist buzzed again. A simple message this time. _"They're all dead. I'm fine, but the rest of our network is gone. -Mrs. J"_

"Change of plans. We're hitting their barracks too," Andrew growled.

"Care to explain? I know this is your Op, but I need to know why," Thermer asked cautiously. He pulled his shemagh down to uncover his face.

Andrew reciprocated the action. His lips pulled in a thin line. "My entire network is gone. J is the only survivor. They know we're out here. I aim to misbehave."

"Don't let your emotions get the better of you. I'll let you do it just this once. Our cover is blown and it's advantageous to destroy their quarters. Don't get carried away." Andrew flashed an unsettling smile. It was one Thermer was well acquainted with. One that conveyed malice and guaranteed Thermer would be filling out paperwork for hours. It was one he hated. Andrew's hands came to rest on a damage pack. The Spartan pulled a brick of C-12 from the pack and cut a five-centimeter cube from it.

"What's taking you all so-" The guard was cut off as Andrew's knife sailed across the store house. The blade sunk into the base of his throat, causing the man to let out a gurgling gasp. He stood there in shock as the irate Spartan walked to him and retrieved the knife. _CLACK CLACK! _The others hadn't noticed Andrew draw the pistol.

"King, hand me those relays you've got."

Brandon took a moment coming to. He'd seen Andrew in battle. He'd seen how ruthless he could be, but this was something else. There was none of his usual flair; it was cold, calculated and efficient. He'd wasted no time and now he was just acting like he hadn't just executed the man. Not wanting to cross the man, King brought the relays over. Andrew immediately went to work pairing the detonator to them.

"Thermer, King. You two take these over to the east complex. Take out the guardsmen, plant the relay by the door, stick this to a load bearing wall and stick the receiver into it. Make sure you can't see the contacts anymore and don't forget to turn it on."

Thermer took the items from Andrew and stuffed them into his cargo pockets. "We'll take the 'hog. Link up with us when you two are done. Try not to get too messy."

Andrew nodded and returned to his task. He cut another cube of plastic explosive from the brick and taped it to a load bearing wall. With the receiver planted into the charge and turned on, he turned towards Sam. "Hey, grab a case of plasma grenades and set them near the charge. I want this place to look like a Victory Day parade."

"Aren't you going a little overboard? I'm all for causing trouble, but you barely knew your informants," Sam's concerned voice filled the stale air.

"Doesn't matter. They were under the impression that they were safe. That their clients wouldn't sell them out. I'll make sure that bitch pays too," Andrew packed up the damage pack and the relays. Sam placed the crate of grenades by the charge and followed Andrew to the door. The older Spartan planted a relay in the ground before motioning for them to link up with the others.

The narrow streets of the mining village were mostly empty. Those that saw the two didn't seem to care about them. Jesse and Brandon were already in the warthog waiting. The drive to the garage was dead silent. One couldn't help but gawk at the size of the structure. Sure, they had seen it on the maps and from a distance, but being close to it was something else. It was far larger than any other building around. It was easy to forget how large some of the mining equipment Nomolos employed was. The guards followed the warthog into the massive garage.

"What are you guys doing here? Shouldn't you be out there with the rest of our forces?"

"We're new here. Transfers from the main camp. We saw the flares go up and figured we should come here to get a vehicle better suited to fight," Andrew's lie was sickeningly calm.

"Oh, that makes sense actually. What were you guys transferred here for," the other guard asked.

"Explosive ordnance prep." It wasn't a lie, but it certainly wasn't true.

"Well, it looks like all we've got is the little project our mechanics have been working on. I don't think they're too keen on anyone taking it out yet. Something about needing some more tests."

"What better test than search and destroy?" Andrew asked, giving King an almost imperceptible nod. The two guards looked to each other and shrugged before turning to resume their post. Andrew and King fired simultaneously, dropping the man and woman quickly. The Spartans dragged the bodies to a dimly lit corner of the garage. Thermer stopped Andrew before he could do anything.

"I don't know what your malfunction is, but you better get your head on straight. I ain't getting caught because you're throwing a shit fit."

"Boss, you aren't gonna get to him like that. Lemme talk to him," King cut in. Thermer backed away, giving King the space he needed. "Look big guy, I need you to come back to us, aight?"

"Get out of my way," Andrew tried pushing past his battle brother only to be met with a right hook. Andrew recovered from the punch quickly and grabbed King by the shirt collar. "The FUCK was that?!"

"Great, now that I'm not talking to O.N.I's machine anymore we can get to brass tacks. I get that you're pissed off about your informants, but that gives you no fucking right to treat us like we're just a pawn in your grand plan. I'll gladly take orders from Andrew-G199, but I'll be damned if I take orders from someone who shuts down and becomes an empty shell. Either you get your shit in gear or we leave you here, and you can poison them like you did on New Harmony," King's words cut deep. He could see it across Andrew's face; how wide his eyes were, how his jaw moved and his mouth failed to produce words. Andrew's grip on King's collar loosened, giving him a chance to step back. "So, how do we create more chaos."

Andrew looked around the garage. The only other vehicle was a heavily modified transport warthog that Sam and Thermer were looking over. Near that was a fuel pump. Along another wall was a workbench and tool cart. "I need to suss out how much C-12 is needed to blow this shit sky high. Tell the others to move our gear onto that technical and then find the keys for it. They might be over by that workbench."

"Copy, good to have you back. Don't make a habit of that shit." King walked off leaving Andrew to his calculations. With the fuel and oil, the place would light up fairly well, the only issue was its size. A five-centimeter cube certainly wouldn't be enough. The building was seventeen point two tall and thirty-one meters long. Andrew cut out a prism of C-12 ten by seven centimeters. Placing that in his pocket, he went to the doors and set up the relay antenna.

"Hey, Andrew, get over here and give us a hand," Sam called out. Andrew jogged over to see what they needed help with, only to find them hoisting an M247H Heavy Machine Gun over a mount on the side of the vehicle. Andrew helped move the mounting arm into place and locked the weapon into place. Upon further inspection the phrase 'heavily modified' seemed like an understatement. The bed of the truck had been extended to accommodate more troops, there was a blast shield that replaced the first two passenger seats and protected them from the rocket pod mounted on a robotic arm on the roll cage. The two MG mounts on either side of the bed looked like they'd been stripped from a Falcon gunship. The numerous ammo boxes to either side of the mounts indicated that this thing was made for extended combat.

"You name her yet, King," Andrew asked as he looked the thing over.

"Not yet, but I'm thinkin' 'The Warcrime Mobile.'"

"That's not catchy, what about 'Murder Wagon,'" Sam suggested.

"Doesn't matter right now. Andrew, how long," Thermer asked. Andrew tapped his earpiece and listened for a brief moment.

"Not long enough. We need to check the fuel level and get a move on ASAP. They'll be back in minutes. Sam, get it started up and check fuel. If you need to go to the fuel pump over there. King, double check the hog we brought, make sure we left nothing in it. Boss, help me drag some oil drums to the fuel pump. This place is gonna look like a Victory Day celebration."

The four split off for their roles. King scanned over every surface in the transport hog to find nothing. Sam got the vehicle running and found the fuel tank to be half empty. He let King hop in the back before driving over to the fuel pump. Andrew and Thermer were busy stacking oil drums around the fuel pump. "Andrew, we got half a tank. I'm gonna top her off. How much time we got?"

"Five minutes at best. I'm gonna plant the bomb now. Everything is ready apart from fuel right," Andrew asked as he ripped a strip of tape from the roll.

"Yeah, we're all good," King replied.

"Thermer, passenger seat. Punch in the coords for Windfall Airbase and then suss out that MLRS. Sam, King, you're on MG duty."

"Why can't I drive evasion," Sam exclaimed.

"Last time you drove we ended up in a lake," King deadpanned. Sam's shoulders slumped as he shot King a cock-eyed look. Andrew gave Sam a pat on the back as he opened the rudimentary door that had been attached to the vehicle. Andrew's earpiece exploded with activity.

"Oi oi, hurry it the hell up you two. They just found the dead marksman. We don't have any more time," Andrew said as he started up the engine. The feeling of the back swaying side to side was all the indication he needed. Popping the clutch and shifting into first he peeled out of the garage.

"Don't mean to alarm you big guy, but we've already got a tail," Sam yelled. They neared an intersection. Dropping back into first he pulled the wheel hard and yanked on the hand brake. The vehicle slid through the intersection with practiced ease. Everyone in the UNSC was expected to be able to handle a warthog's cumbersome controls. Having been indoctrinated at age five, the Spartan had nearly his entire life to practice. Another intersection, yet again he slid through. Checking the GPS, jumped the shoulder and drove straight into the sand.

"Thermer, hit the detonator," Andrew barked. Thermer turned the key and pressed the button. Three thumps resonated behind them, then came the secondary explosions. The weapon cache and garage exploded spectacularly. Tons of ordnance and fuel turned night to day and leveled the surrounding buildings. Andrew could see it from the side mirrors. He could also see their tail gaining on them. At least a dozen vehicles.

"You two better be ready with those guns. Boss, we're gonna need air support."

Thermer flicked his comms to the UNSC's E-Band. "Airbase Windfall this is Fireteam Phoenix rescinding No-Fly in grid Bravo Three. Need immediate close air support on mobile IFF. Large hostile force. How copy?"

"Phoenix Actual, this is Windfall control we read you Lima Charlie. Valkyrie 2-1 will be joining you ASAP. Keep your IFF active and comms online."

"Copy Windfall, Phoenix out." Thermer opened a box attached to the dashboard in front of him. A small screen and control console turned on. Thermer pulled the joy stick to one side, causing the MLRS up top to spin around. A throttle on the other side controlled the pitch of the weapon. Whipping the turret around he lined up a shot on a hostile warthog. The 'hog lurched as a rocket tore its way through the cool night air. The explosive slammed into the engine of his target. The vehicle detonated, sending its remains skittering across the sand.

"We had it all wrong, it should be Murder Mobile or War Crime Wagon," King shouted over his machine gun. His rounds traced across the night sky, slamming into the turret of another warthog.

"Time and place, dude. Time and place," Sam said as he fired on the driver of another vehicle. To say the sniper wasn't used to manning a machine gun was an understatement.

"Sam, short bursts, lead the target like you would any other mid-range engagement. You don't need to take them down, just suppress them. Remember, you're firing twelve point seven by ninety-nine. It's similar to what you fire on the daily. Pull up on your grip to manage recoil," King yelled over his shoulder. The Spartan looked over the hostile vehicles. Several mongooses, at least a dozen more 'hogs and several older civets. The lumbering tracked vehicles carried troops in modified cargo boxes. "Andrew, you seein' what they got? There's no way we're getting out of this mess. Maximum airspeed of a Sparrowhawk is approximately six hundred and ten kilos per hour. Factor in loading, I really doubt they'll make it in time to save us."

"It's a max of six eleven. I hope you're all strapped in. King, be ready to fire on your two," Andrew yelled. An enemy 'hog had started gaining on their left. Andrew shifted into sixth and the 'hog's engine roared. Whatever was under the hood wasn't stock. The hulking technical surpassed the encroaching enemy and within moments they were a hundred meters ahead of the target. The Spartan downshifted to third gear, cranked the wheel and damn near ripped the hand brake out. The four Spartans fought the sudden deceleration as the vehicle pulled a three sixty, drifting across the enemy's path and put the offending driver right in King's gunsights. "Light that fucker up!"

King didn't need to be told. As soon as he had the shot, he took it. The 7.62x99mm HE rounds tore the cabin of the Red Hand warthog apart. The vehicle turned sharply and rolled as its driver slumped in a bloody heap. Andrew pushed their vehicle to its limits, rapidly shifting back into sixth gear. He could practically hear Chief Mendez giving him an earful for recklessly driving. He could almost feel the spittle as Mendez would surely be yelling for pushing the transmission like this. Andrew shook his head clear of those thoughts and continued his desperate attempt to evade the hostile gunfire. Every second seemed like an eternity. Every kilometer felt like hundreds. They weren't more than three hundred klicks from Windfall by now. Valkyrie 2-1 had to be closing in soon. Any moment now. Any second. _'Come on! Hurry the fuck up!'_

"Phoenix Actual, this is Valkyrie 2-1; respond."

"Valkyrie 2-1 this is Phoenix Actual. Good to hear your voice!"

"Likewise, Phoenix. Patch me through to your driver, I need him to hear me."

"Copy that."

"Phoenix Two, I need a reaction test, understood?"

"Copy that, standing by."

"Mark," the pilot ordered.

"Mark."

"Mark."

"Mark."

"Mark."

"Mark," Andrew parroted back instantly.

"Good, on my mark I need you to take a sharp turn to your nine. You're coming into view now."

"Copy Valkyrie." Andrew steadied his breathing. He felt his heart rate slowing, his vision focused on the desert ahead, he blocked out all sound save the radio. His grip on the wheel tightened. His right hand hovered over the hand brake.

"Mark." Andrew pulled the hand brake and cranked the wheel once again. The vehicle hauled off to the left just barely missing the nose of another warthog. He could see the destruction in his side mirrors before he heard the rumble of the Sparrowhawk's twin 20mm GAU-23s. Several of the Red Hand vehicles either flipped, rolled or just slid to a stop as the gunfire ceased. That didn't mean it was over. Andrew could still see several vehicles begin to turn after them. Three seconds passed and night turned to day once more as a civet erupted in flame. The Valkyrie 2-1's gunner had hit it with the Sparrowhawk's M6 Nonlinear Cannon, a much more powerful version of the Spartan Laser. The remaining Red Hand vehicles scattered as Valkyrie continued to rain hell upon them. Eventually they were all out of Andrew's sight.

"Phoenix you are in the clear. Say again, you are in the clear. Head to Airbase Windfall as fast as possible."

"Copy that Valkyrie. Good shooting out there. See you back at base."

* * *

**December 4th**

**11:00 Local Time**

**Airbase Windfall**

"Colonel I understand that you don't appreciate such sudden calls for help, but you had been informed of a joint operation in your territory and the potential need to support it. The fact of the matter is that my Spartans did what was necessary." The call had been going on like this for somewhere near fifteen minutes. It was starting to bore the members of Fireteam Phoenix.

"With all due respect Commander McKnight, I don't see how destroying an abandoned mining village is necessary."

"Andrew, fill him in."

"Yes ma'am. Colonel Bulton, that mining village was a Red Hand encampment. In recent months Fireteam Phoenix has been investigating increased insurrection activity across the planet. A trust-worthy source led us to that village. We identified a building that held several tons of ordnance, all given to the Hand by a rogue element within O.N.I. Our objective was simple. Destroy the weapon cache and any other supplies we could find. Things got complicated when the people who provided my intel brokers sold us out. However; satellite images from this morning confirm that we managed to destroy the entirety of the cache, supply depot, garage and their bunkhouse. If they can't get back to the main base, they'll die of dehydration."

"You people didn't think to inform me of what you were doing before you started?"

"Honestly Colonel, that information was need-to-know. All you needed to know was that if we called for help, you were expected to help," Thermer stated bluntly. "As for the help we got, Valkyrie 2-1 did an outstanding job. Approximately half the enemy's mechanized forces were eliminated before they scattered."

"Thanks for the positive review Spartan," Valkyrie's pilot said. Her voice was far more chipper than it was last night.

"What about now? They obviously know we're on to them. Should I start running scouting flights and bomb every village I see? You can't expect them to take it lying down," Bulton huffed.

"I still have one contact left. Knowing her, she managed to snag all the data the others had. We lay low a while, give them a false sense of security and in the meantime, we plan out simultaneous strikes on every location we know of. Scare them off this planet with one fell swoop."

"What about the vehicle you commandeered?"

"I'm sorry, they did what?" McKnight's tone of voice was something else. A rare mix of confusion, irritation and amusement that Andrew had never heard from anyone.

"We commandeered a technical found in the garage. Saying that it is a heavily modded transport 'hog is the understatement of the century."

"Continue."

"The bed has been extended. However, the first third of the bed is dedicated to a blast shield to protect the passengers. More on that later. Along the sides of the bed are troughs for ammo boxes and hardpoints for supplies. There are mounts for M247H MGs. The engine and drivetrain definitely aren't stock. Checked that myself. The driver and passenger have doors. The front was up-armored and has more hardpoints for supplies. This brings us to the coup de gras, the MLRS ripped off a rocket 'hog. It's been mounted to a remote-controlled arm on top of the roll cage. Passenger can use it with a joystick for rotation and throttle for elevation and depression."

"Spartan Thermer, your thoughts on the vehicle?"

"The modifications made to it are a touch excessive. The MLRS could easily be replaced with an and you'd get a lighter vehicle with more passenger space. That being said, the concept is good. It's geared towards extended patrols, search and rescue, and extended combat. It handles just as well as a regular warthog. With an even better engine it has potential to provide the Spartan branch with a rapid response vehicle. Therefore, I'd like to request permission to bring it home and keep it."

"You can't be serious? You want to keep that death trap? Even more, you want to mass produce them?"

"Colonel, it is often that the victor of a conflict owes their good fortune to the appropriation of enemy technologies. The United States stole research from Nazi Germany and developed the atom bomb. The UNSC stole Jackal shield gauntlets and created portable energy shields. This vehicle could provide us with a much-needed upper hand when it comes to hit and run vehicular combat."

"Well said Thermer. Permission granted. I expect you'll be home later today?"

"No can-do ma'am. Sandstorm coming in. We'll be home tomorrow."

* * *

**December 5th**

**12:00 Local Time**

**Fort Keyes**

The Pelican hovered just a few meters off the ground as it dropped the Frankenstein's monster of a vehicle off. The members of Phoenix hopped down from the ramp with ease. A group of mechanics had come out from the garage to look over the abomination. The group could be heard chattering to themselves as they looked over the modifications the Red Hand had made. One looked at Thermer and spoke, "This is what you want us to analyse? Really? I don't even know where to start with this thing. It's missing a side mirror!"

"Did they fail to mention that it saw combat the night we stole it?" Thermer asked. Before anything else could be said a young MP approached them.

"Fireteam Phoenix, if you could please grab your gear and follow me? The Commander would like to speak with you." The team promptly grabbed their kit from what they voted to be the War Crime Wagon and followed the young man to a conference room. Their cobbled gear stood out against the uniforms of the fort. Mix-matched armor and camouflages, webbing wherever it would fit. All-in-all, they looked like a group of ragtag insurrectionists and it showed. Much of the base personnel stopped and stared as they passed by. It was good to know that their disguises passed for the real thing. The MP stopped at a door and motioned for them to enter. The first person Andrew saw as he walked in was Mrs. J. He breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing her face.

"Good to see you made it out safe Mrs. J."

"Likewise, Bothrops, I'll presume this is the rest of your psychotic team?"

"Don't tell me the Commander filled your head with lies."

"No, she let me listen in on the call yesterday. So, I've gotta ask, where does one get Bothrops from Andrew?"

"Long story short someone called me a viper a long time ago and the nickname kinda stuck. Bothrops is a genus of viper."

"So, snakes."

"With neurotoxic venom, you know, because I take out key functions of insurrection cells."

"No, they use cytotoxins to poison the bloodstream."

"Very good, no one else picks up on that lie. I knew I trusted you for a reason."

"Because I can smell moa shit a mile away?"

"Bingo."

Commander McKnight cleared her throat rather loudly, gaining everyone's attention. "If we're all done catching up I'd like to get on with why I brought you all here. Stow the formalities and take a seat gentlemen. Seeing as everyone's cover has been blown open, I feel it prudent that we know each other by name. Fireteam Phoenix, this is O.N.I Agent Jacqueline Briggs. Since the fall of Trost she's been working with the Office in order to wipe her records clean. Briggs is a former insurrectionist and has as much knowledge of their inner workings as you Andrew."

"Wait, Jac Briggs? Ain't you the one that was shacked up with King here? You're a bit shorter than I expected." Andrew asked rather unceremoniously.

"Hold on a second. Brandon King? Is that really you?" Jacqueline exclaimed.

"Yup. So, you've been with the spooks this whole time. I was wondering where you ended up after Trost."

"I'm going to assume we don't need to cover introductions in that case?" McKnight asked impatiently.

"I still don't know the other two."

"This is Sam Caster, our sniper. This is Jesse Thermer, the Boss and our other sniper." Andrew said. "There, intros are over and we can get down to brass tacks."

"Fair enough. As I was saying, our cover is fucked. The syndicate sold you out and got your network killed. Agent Briggs did manage to secure the information your other brokers had before she came to us. Briggs' previous mission under the office was to investigate the insurrection's ties to the local underground and find the source of their armaments. You boys found the snake guarding the armadillo and killed it. Unfortunately, you've kicked up a Yanme'e nest within the underground in doing so. That's where the intel Briggs secured comes in. You have three weeks to analyze what she brought and bring me a plan." McKnight tossed a data-pad to Andrew. "I want them running scared. You bring me a plan; you get clearance to take out the one that stabbed you in the back."

"You've got a deal, ma'am. Considering you took the time to introduce us to Jac, I presume Suckerpunch isn't the only reason we're here?" Andrew asked with a hint of amusement.

"Ma'am, before you say anything, I'd like to request that I be reassigned as an attaché to Fireteam Phoenix. It's evident to me that they need someone with a little more tact to liaise with O.N.I."

"That would certainly save time and money, but I already have a proposition for you Agent Briggs. The Office of Naval Intelligence has agreed to clear your records effective immediately. Congratulations, you're a free woman. While making you an attaché would be cost effective and get you on the team starting today, I'd like to propose that you join the Spartan Branch. You'd be assigned to Fireteam Phoenix as their sixth member. The augmentations are agonizing, you'll be in and out of surgery for three weeks and recovering for a month. Many of the augmentations are irreversible. The squids will open you up, pull you apart and put you back together again. At the end of it you'll be strong enough to lift several times your own body weight, break femurs with your bare hands, see in the dark and so much more. It's your choice. I won't force you."

"Way to lead with the grim part." Jac said sarcastically. "Wait, you said their sixth. I only count four?"

"Fireteam Phoenix is in the unique position of being the only known unit to employ a military working dog. Sylas is an augmented German Shepherd. As for your other remark, I'm not going to sugar coat something to convince you to join. I'll be upfront with you about it. Everyone in this room and their dog knows how much the procedures hurt. Andrew had it worse than the rest of us. Spartan Three augmentations were brutal. At least with the Spartan Four augmentations you won't die."

"Speaking of Sylas, was he a good boy while we were gone?" Andrew interjected.

"Yes, he was well behaved. He followed his regimen to a tee and ate everything he was given. So what do you say Briggs? Willing to go through hell to run with the best?"

"I've already been through a few hells, Commander. What's one more?"

"Welcome to the family. Hope you can deal with a few jackasses and a huge dog." Andrew said.

"Spartan Thermer, do you have any objections."

"No ma'am. The more the merrier. I'll have to do the paperwork for another bunk after I finish my after action report."

"Briggs, feel free to follow them to your new barracks. Meet me in my office at sixteen hundred to fill out the paperwork. You should be headed out tomorrow."

* * *

Notes:

Fun fact: The pink fairy armadillo and fer-de-lance or Bothrops Asper have a mutualistic relationship. The snake guards the armadillo's burrow and the armadillo's feces helps the snake produce venom.

If anyone remembers the earlier chapters you might remember Andrew saying that vipers use neurotoxic venom. He lied. He likes to see if people are willing to blindly believe what they are told.

The War Crime Wagon is based on a vehicle created by a friend in SFM. It looks as jank as it sounds.


	16. Chapter 15: Bright Lights, Silent Night

_Text = _onomatopoeia

_'Text' =_ Thought

_"Text" = _Nonverbal communication

* * *

_**Chapter 15: Bright Lights, Silent Night**_

**January 2nd, 2569**

**12:30 Local Time**

**Fort Keyes, Minerva, Lambda Rho System**

"Andrew, I only ask to make sure you're stable enough to take this mission."

"Doc, I'm fine, really. I've been transparent with you since I got back from the desert. I understand why I reacted the way I did that night. I understand how my team feels about that. It isn't happening again."

"If that's the case tell me how you rationalize your reaction."

"I was under stress from being in a direct command position. Things were suspicious from the get go. I learned that we had been sold out and that my network was in the line of fire. When we took our chance to complete the objective, I learned that most of them had been killed, despite my promise of safety. I felt angry and guilty. Instead of letting those emotions trigger a response from my augmentations I shut them out. I felt that was the more productive option and despite what I believed, I still put my team at risk. Next time I need to communicate with them more efficiently to avoid shutting down like that again."

"Well, I didn't expect you to take that as seriously as you did. Alright, I'll clear you for your mission. Now, how was your Christmas? I heard that you opened your presents and are expected to participate next year." Arinn was awfully chipper about the one thing she forced him to do.

"It was actually kind of nice. The gifts were a little morbid, but I get the sentiment. I'm not gonna be around forever, as such I should start looking for the upside."

"What did they get you?"

"Well, King somehow managed to get my old GUNGNIR helmet from O.N.I. The thing is absolutely thrashed. Still has blood stains and busted components in it. It's kinda crazy to think I made it out of that one. It's a reminder of the past, and a reason to keep going. If I can make it out of that, I get through anything."

"What about Sam?"

"Back before we bugged out of New Sydney Sam may or may not have broken some rules. We're not supposed to take souvenirs from the field. Well, Sam checked the grenade launcher that Sangheili was using. Turns out he had a chance to kill me. There was a forty-millimeter grenade loaded, but he chose to face me head on. He showed me respect, despite our differences. Sam took the grenade and turned it into a charm for my armor, sort of like a sniper's HOG tooth."

"Hog tooth?"

"Hunter of gunmen. A sniper starts as a professionally instructed gunman, or PIG. They become a HOG, when they kill an enemy sniper that was gunning for them and take the round from the chamber of the enemy's rifle. I know, it's kinda strange and ritualistic, but it's their tradition. Sam gave me it as his way of making me a HOG."

"The more I learn about you Spartans, the less I actually understand. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself though. Your team is a family, your family. You're lucky you found them, don't let them go."

* * *

**January 3rd, 2569**

**08:30 Local Time**

"At ease Spartans. Welcome to Operation Street Sweeper. Your briefing packet has been uploaded to your data pad. Open to page one and familiarize yourself with your team's role. You may notice that we will be operating within New Sydney. You are to keep collateral to the barest of minimums. Your primary objective is to eliminate any and all Red Hand forces you can. Some of you will have secondary objectives to extract friendly assets, code phrases have been provided. Does anyone have a question?" Commander McKnight had complete control over the briefing room, the same auditorium Phoenix met Sylas. She watched as the members of her Spartan company went over their reading material, all but Fireteam Phoenix. The room filled with the low murmurs of Spartans. The chatter slowly died down and one of the Spartan's of Fireteam Aquila stood.

"Ma'am, may I inquire as to where this intel came from? I don't see any mention of an intelligence operative."

"Spartan G199, would you care to share?"

Andrew stood up and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room. "Over the course of the last four months myself and Fireteam Phoenix have investigated insurrection activity here on Minerva. We caught a lucky break at the end of September. O.N.I Intelligence Analyst and Mission Coordinator Clayton Henshaw was found to be supplying the Red Hand with weapons and helping them move them through the system under the guise of a special operation. After Henshaw was removed from the equation, I was given authorization to use my skills to secure a network of data dealers. These underground contacts provided us with the location of a weapons cache held in an abandoned mining town. We can speak to the validity of the intelligence provided."

"So, you expect us to do this based on intel you bought from people sifting the slush. Pardon me for not feeling comfortable with this, Commander."

"Yes, I do. The network Spartan G199 assembled wouldn't have been killed if they didn't know something about the Red Hand. I expect all of you to do your job and clean house. This is our planet and I'll be damned if we let them get comfortable here. These rebels killed over one hundred civilians, over fifty police and injured countless more during the September attack. This isn't just a standard sweep and clear. We are going to push these bastards back into whatever hole they came from. If that is all, head to armor bay and get ready, you deploy at ten hundred hours." McKnight watched as her Spartans began to leave the auditorium. Each team moved together with a sense of purpose. Something caught her eye though. An interaction between the members of Phoenix and Aquila. As the Commander approached the two teams, she made several observations. Despite Andrew's relaxed body language his face was a clear expression of anger. Aquila's leader was much more animated in his body language. He was obviously agitated, meanwhile the rest of his team were more than exasperated with him.

"I don't care if you don't like where the intel came from. You wanna push the insurrection off world or do you want a repeat of the September attacks?" Andrew's tone of voice carried a great deal of venom. Enough to get the man to shut up.

"Let's go Walsh! Just leave him be!"

"Just do your job, Aquila One. 'Verse knows I've been doing mine." Andrew turned away, checking something on his wrist as he went. McKnight closed the distance between herself and Spartan Walsh Kasbin before the young leader could catch on. Her hand grabbed a hold of his upper arm just before he could storm after the Spartan Three.

"Don't even think about it, Aquila One. O.N.I has always obtained intelligence from local sources. He did his job, now report to armor bay and do yours. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, ma'am."

* * *

**10:45**

**New Sydney**

The transport rolled to a stop in the small lot behind Club небеса. Sam and King hopped out of the back first. Andrew stood up, but was stopped by Thermer. Jesse motioned for the two to sweep the lot and receiving dock. He grabbed Andrew by the back of the head and pressed their helmets together. Depolarizing his visor, the leader spoke in a stern yet concerned voice. "Don't let that Aquila fuckhead get to you. Stay grounded in here, aight."

Andrew depolarized his own visor, grabbed Thermer in a similar manner, locked eyes and smiled. "You think I'mma let that shit bird get to me? C'mon boss, I've got anger issues, but that guy's below us. Let's go. I got a business associate to kill."

The two exited the vehicle and quickly linked up with Sam and King. Andrew examined the panel next to the door. Ripping the panel from the wall and linking his Tac-Pad to the maintenance port, the Spartan uploaded one of his oldest intrusion programs. "Looks like someone cheaped out on home security. This is easier than I thought."

With a tap, Andrew had the door unlocked for his team. King extended his shield and entered first. The back-of-house was surprisingly quiet. Andrew had expected the kitchen staff to be prepping the snacks the club usually sold throughout the night. Coming into the kitchen they found no one. Less potential for collateral damage. Andrew signed for them to stop. Sam gave him a questioning glance. Andrew's voice came over TeamCOMM. "There's some sort of broadcast in there. Looks like a conference call. I'm gonna try to lock them in. If she's talking to other bosses, I want them to see this. Give me a sec."

The Spartan rapidly tapped away at his Tac-Pad, sifting through his intrusive programs looking for the right one. With the building under his control, it took little effort to upload the virus. Andrew counted down on his fingers as it locked its targets' controls. Sam signed at him. _"I forget you do that. Scary shit."_

_"Get ready. Lights out in three." _Andrew responded.

_"King, door. Now." _Thermer signed. The four Spartans stacked up to the door. Thermer nodded to Andrew and the lights were killed. Bursting through the kitchen door, King cracked the closest guard in the leg with his stun baton. The crunch of the man's leg and crackle of electricity brought the attention of everyone in the room, not that it helped them. Several more guards dropped as Sam, Thermer and Andrew opened fire. With enough of the syndicate lackies dead Andrew made his way to their boss's lounge. The Spartan's armor lit up with an ethereal glow as he passed the holograms of his target's associates. Suddenly the lights came on.

"You have no clue how much you pissed me off."

"What is the meaning of this? I have a deal with you people!"

"We _had_ a deal. Actually, I think your associates here should know about that. I'm sure they're very concerned as to why you'd make deals with the military." Andrew turned around and looked at his audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's nice to make your acquaintance. Your friend and I made a deal at the end of October. You see, in September a terrorist attack forced the UNSC to up our security in New Sydney. Her profits dropped because we started to make it harder for her to move whatever illegal products you people push. At the end of October I offered to get the UNSC off her back in exchange for access to her network of info brokers."

"She took the deal. I began to work with the brokers she provided in order to hunt down the Red Hand forces that have made their presence violently known. So imagine my surprise when last month, in the middle of an operation, I get a call from one of the brokers saying your associate here sold us out. That she squealed when the Red Hand came in here and that most of the network had been fucking murdered. That leaves me with a question, is that how your organization normally operates? You just fuck over your associates when someone waves a gun at you?"

"Daryna is this true?" An elderly man asked.

"Yes." The woman was far more reserved than normal. She'd been caught. She was sure none of them would've survived.

"You threw away everything I taught you. For what?"

"I was sure they-" Daryna had stood up only to receive the barrel of a handgun in her mouth. She could taste the burnt gunpowder around the muzzle of the weapon. The Spartan's speed and lack of hesitance only made the gravity of her situation sink in even faster.

"She was certain we wouldn't have survived. What she failed to remember was that she made a deal with Spartans. As the old phrase goes, 'Spartans never die.'"

"I'm sure we can work something out. Please remove your gun from my goddaughter's mouth." Andrew pulled the weapon from her mouth and motioned for her to sit.

"You folk and I can work something out, but she's already signed her death warrant by tossing in with the Red Hand. Daryna, is it? Give me that Chatter they gave you." The terrified woman removed the comm device from her wrist and handed it over. Andrew looked around to see the remaining guards held captive by his team.

"What is it you want?"

"You pull your remaining people from my planet and you don't come back."

"What do we get in return."

"You don't get labeled as an accessory organization run by the Red Hand."

"I don't see much benefit for us."

"You don't have a choice. Either you leave this planet or your organization comes crumbling down. O.N.I wouldn't even question my report."

"Fine. Now release her."

Andrew cocked his helmeted head to the side. He spun around unbelievably fast and opened fire. Five shots rang out in the otherwise silent club. Daryna's body slumped in her chair. Andrew looked back over his shoulder before speaking. "I told you. She signed her death warrant. Now get your people off my planet."

The syndicate leaders watched in silent shock as Andrew walked away. Another burst of gunfire signaled the end of the last guards in the building. As the four Spartans left the building Andrew shut the power down. O.N.I would come around soon enough to clean up the mess.

* * *

**February 7th, 2569**

**11:43 Local Time**

**Fireteam Phoenix Barracks**

"You did what to my rifle? I was gone for two months!" Jaq threw a pair of wire cutters at Andrew's head. He dodged them easily.

"Will you let me finish my damned sentence? Fuckin' Christ!" Andrew shouted back at their new teammate. She had only been in the barracks for three minutes and they were already having issues. She crossed her arms and waited. "Thank you. I was saying, I took your rifle to the armory and ran it through a few checks. Turns out your receiver was about to fail. Another three or four rounds would've put your bolt in your damned head. I did you a solid and redesigned the receiver. Aesthetically it's the same, just has better construction to reinforce the weak points I found."

"Oh. Can I ask why?" Her body slackened a bit.

"I was bored after Operation Street Sweeper and I wanted to make sure your gear was up to snuff. I'm gonna guess you printed the old parts yourself?" The others were taken aback by Jaq's initial volatility. Andrew tossed what he and King had begun to call the Garbage Cannon back to her. She caught it and noticed that it seemed lighter than it should. "You're a Spartan now, it's gonna feel lighter. May want to get some lifting in to help learn your limits."

Jaq snapped out of her thoughts. "Oh, right. Yeah, I've had to rebuild the rifle a few times. I've always just printed my parts."

"Alright, well if you two are done trying to antagonize each other, we have some combat drills." Thermer stated authoritatively.

"Don't I get time to settle in?"

"Nope. Get changed into your techsuit and grab any gear you need for medium to close range. Andrew, get Sylas geared up. King, I want you to grab your wall. Sam, you bring your DMR. Get a move on people."

"Did you say close range? I can't fight at close range." Jaq said worriedly.

"You're about to learn real fast. Andrew doesn't hold back in these drills. It's only gotten worse since they gave us Sylas." Sam said flatly. What he said was true though. Before Sylas came around Andrew was aggressive in close quarters, but his partnership with the Hellhound had fostered a new love for his preferred range.

"You're kidding, right? Is this a common drill?"

"Yeah, we gotta make sure you snipers can hold your own if we're separated in combat. Andrew's close combat rankings have only increased since he was partnered with Sylas. Alone he'll keep me at a stalemate all day. With Sylas, he'll take us all down in half an hour." King replied. Jaq looked over at the man in question, fitting Sylas's harness in place. "You'll be fine. We'll be all armored up. Worse comes to worse, you get thrown on your ass a lot."

* * *

From where Jaq was sitting, this whole drill seemed rigged. Her, Sam and Thermer had to disable Andrew, King and Sylas and vice versa. Sam had been right about Andrew, once he was close enough the man was ruthless. His use of the dog to disarm the enemy followed by a finishing blow was something to be feared. The BR55HB she'd been given barked, but it was far too late. The rifle was ripped from her arms by Sylas. Her legs were swept out from under and the familiar sound of Andrew's SOCOM sounded off as she fell. Her armor had already locked by the time she hit the ground. "Damnit! Is this for the wire cutters or something?!"

"No, this is just what I do. If you'd like I can train you in hand to hand, that is with the Boss's permission of course." Andrew reached down and helped her up. She had been the last to go down, true to her insurrection roots she'd been good at evading her opponents and brilliant in her use of grenades to gain distance. She wouldn't need SERE training, that much he could tell. She had everything other than close quarters combat in the bag.

"Not to come off as dismissive, but all you've done is sweep my legs. I'm not really sure that's going to help me."

"That's because it's the fastest way to take you down. I'm ruthless and efficient. King and I can go at this for over fifteen hours if someone lets us. Our movements are deliberate, our strikes calculated. I don't waste energy. The offer still stands." Drills had been going on for two hours and Jaq was still making the same mistake as when they started. Back when the team had first formed it only took Sam and Thermer twenty minutes not to let him get too close.

"Andrew, I want you to train Jaq in hand to hand. She clearly needs it. Jaq, no room for arguing here. Sam and I will work with King." Thermer said as he went to grab a water bottle.

"That settles that. Go grab a drink, I'll be waiting."

"Great, I can't wait to get beaten by the dog some more." Jaq muttered under her breath.

Andrew lowered himself into a kneeling position, sitting back on his calves. Sylas trotted over to his primary handler, licking his chops free of lingering water. Jaq eyed the two as she took a sip of water. Thermer stood next to her and let out a wry chuckle. "If you're wondering why they're bonded so well, it's because they both almost died the same night."

Jaq shot him a confused look; her eyebrow arched high. "You make it sound like he's used to almost dying."

"He is used to it. We were taking an insurrection airport. Got to the warehouse to find a massive weapon cache. We engage the enemy and start to clear the building. Halfway through a flashbang blinds those two and a Sangheili puts two shells of eight gauge in Andrew's gut. Split chin made the mistake of saying something about killing Sylas. Big guy gets up, disarms the elite and rips his arm off. Tried beating him to death with it before settling on smashing his skull in with the shotgun. Sylas trusts Andrew more than anyone else now." Thermer sipped from his bottle, letting Jaq wrap her head around what he said.

"So, he's this aggressive in order to protect us snipers?"

"No, he's aggressive because he was made to be so. He channels that to protect _everyone_. He's going to train you. In doing so he'll kick your ass until he needs to find a new way to do so. He'll exploit your weaknesses and openings until you stop giving them to him. Tell me, when Sylas is about to disarm you, does time seem to slow?"

"Yeah?"

"Good, when he's coming in for an attack, watch how he moves. Use those microseconds to watch what he's aiming for. You may learn what you're leaving open before he gets bored and tells you. Now go. Sylas, auf King." Jaq walked back to Andrew, slipping her Recon helmet back on. Sylas passed by her on his way to King. Thermer's words hung in her mind. It wasn't too long ago that she watched Spartan's from behind the scope of her rifle, learning their movements before she pulled the trigger. This shouldn't be too hard.

"Try to knock me down." Jaq stood in front of the kneeling Spartan. All she had to do was kick him and he'd topple. Her leg swung out at him lightning quick. Time slowed as his arm came up to block. As soon as their limbs connected, he wrapped his arm around her leg and pulled. His right hand lashed out and pushed her hip. She toppled to the ground. Andrew gave her time to stand up. This time she observed how he sat. His ankles were crossed, meaning pushing him backwards would be impossible. If she went from the side, she'd end up like she just did. It had to be from the back. She launched a kick aimed straight at his back. Again, her sense of time slowed. Her target leaned forward and a foot kicked back, knocking Jaq's from under her. Momentum took hold and she fell forwards. Andrew was in a runner's four-point start, albeit greatly exaggerated. He stood up and offered her a hand. "What did you learn."

"You're aware of every angle of attack. I can't take you when you're seated like that."

"Close. Height has advantages and disadvantages. It's hard to beat an opponent that can fit inside your guard. I'm almost thirty centimeters taller than you when we're in armor and almost twenty without. I have more reach, but I have to aim down. You're shorter than any Spartan I've ever met. Use that when fighting, slip in and out of my guard. Fight on your terms, not the enemy's. We'll work on that more later. For now, we work on your guard and strikes, you clearly have no clue how to throw a kick and I doubt you can throw a punch."

"Wow. You _really _know how to motivate people don't you?"

"No, but I know that you saw my every move. I know you stored that away for later. I know that with enough training you won't get taken down by a simple trip. Now, show me your fighting stance." The two carried on like this for another two hours. Seemingly minor mistakes were corrected as though they'd lead to her untimely demise. The two quipped back and forth. She'd need at least a month's worth of training by his estimate. He was okay with that to be honest. It would let her grow accustomed to her new body. She'd only gained twenty centimeters during augmentation, making her a towering 1.82 meters tall without her armor. Her armor only granted her another five centimeters. Andrew wasn't shy with the short jokes, saying anger made a good motivator. When Andrew decided that was enough, he instructed her to watch the way King fought.

"What am I looking for?"

"Wait for it, there you see that? How he's swinging wide to bash Thermer away?"

"What of it?"

"He's open. Sylas is out, Thermer dodged the strike, but Sam didn't do anything. He's gonna punish Sam for it." Sure enough King pulled the shield back in to guard his core and lashed out with his stun baton at Sam, dropping the sniper on the spot. "King's attacks are very telegraphed. You know what he's doing long before he does it."

"Why didn't Sam use his grapnel to tie up King when he was open?"

"That's what I'm wondering. Good catch." They watched on as King pushed Thermer farther back. King swung wide with the massive shield again, Thermer flared his thrusters propelling him back against the wall. Jaq leaned forward to yell something to their leader, but Andrew's hand stopped her. King dashed forwards with the shield narrowly missing Thermer as the marksman rolled away. Thermer was up before King had recovered and took advantage, tackling the machine gunner to the ground and pressing a knife to his throat. King's baton was pressed to Thermer's obliques. The two helped each other off the floor and unlocked their eliminated teammates' armor. Thermer signed for the team to rally on him.

"I think that's enough for today. Jaq what did you learn with Andrew?"

"Telegraphing and practiced my strikes. Sam, when King lashes out with the shield you should use your grapnel to tie him up. Boss, get into his guard faster, it takes him time to bring the shield back around." Jaq replied.

"She understands the concepts. It's just a matter of making them muscle memory. I'd say she has a month of training before she holds her own." Andrew said.

"Make it so Andrew. Jaq, I'm glad you took that advice to heart. Keep at it alright."

"Thanks Boss. I'm going to have a hard time sorting out Andrew's movements. He's subtle in how he strikes."

"He's been at this for twenty-four years. He plays his cards close to his chest. The signs that he'll strike are miniscule at best." Sam said.

"He doesn't look old enough to be a twenty-four-year vet."

"I'll tell you more when we get back to barracks." Andrew said plainly. "We should hit up armor bay and the mess first, I'm getting hungry."

* * *

**Operation Street Sweeper is not the end of the Red Hand threat in Lambda Rho. O.N.I's significance in this story will be reduced from here on. The team will be getting adjusted to their new teammate. In the meantime I'll be diving into other projects.**

**небеса means Empyrean or Heaven in Ukrainian**


	17. Chapter 16: Out of Left Field

_**Text = Onomatopoeia**_

_'Text' = Thought_

_"Text" = Non-verbal Communication_

"Text" = Speech

* * *

_**Chapter 16: Out of Left Field**_

**February 20th, 2569**

**13:32 Local Time**

**Fort Keyes, Minerva, Lambda Rho System**

"Congratulations soldier, you just died." Andrew proclaimed. The lesson was going swimmingly thus far. None of his students had figured out what the trick to this bomb was.

"What the hell is with this thing? First, it's five seconds, next it's instantaneous? What's going on?" One soldier protested.

"Hargrove, a diagram of the device please?"

"Of course, Spartan." The base's AI replied. A hologram appeared in the center of the simulator, showing the bomb's design. Andrew highlighted several components in different colors.

"The microcontroller on this device runs checks to ensure that different components are intact. If it can't find the parts it's looking for, boom. There are two separate detonators on this. Only one is directly powered by the battery pack. That would be the five second timer. The other is powered by capacitors on the microcontroller. If the power supply or timer are removed the capacitors go off, if the capacitor detonator is eliminated the timer is triggered. Cut the leads to both detonators at the same time. Reset and try again." Andrew stepped back to let his class try again. As the soldiers resumed Andrew noticed them begin to succeed. They were performing surprisingly well in his book. Their observation of the device and caution when handling was spot on.

"Spartan G199! You and I need to have a chat." A familiar voice cut through the simulation room.

"Aquila One, please leave the simulator and wait until I'm done with my course. It should only take about seven minutes or so."

"That wasn't a request."

"Aquila One, as the instructor of this course I am the ranking individual in this room, now get out so I can finish my class." Andrew turned back to the soldiers disarming the dummy device.

"I don't take orders from people who work with syndicate scum." Walsh replied as he stepped closer to Andrew.

"Look, I don't care what you think about how I do my job. The fact of the matter is that I had the backing of CINCONI and Commander McKnight. I went through the proper channels. Now, get out of this simulator." Andrew didn't need to turn around to know Walsh was throwing a punch. He sidestepped the attack and continued to observe his students. Walsh regained his footing and took another swing; Andrew fanned the strike away. "Hargrove, please alert Spartan MPs. Spartan Walsh is attempting to start a fight."

"That won't be needed sir, Commander McKnight is on her way here. You have approximately three minutes until she arrives."

"Thank you, Hargrove. Has everyone gotten to disarm the device?"

"Just two more left, instructor G199."

"Thank you, Sergeant. I suppose you're all set to leave once you're done. Don't forget to sign out. I'll see you next time we identify a new explosive device." Andrew deftly danced around Walsh's attempts to hit him.

"Just stand still."

"I may be built like a tank, but that doesn't mean I like being hit. You may want to stop before the Commander arrives. I've been fighting since forty-four, you're not gonna get a hit in."

"I don't care how long you've been fighting you don't get to ignore me like that." Andrew was now behind Walsh with his forearm against the man's back. Andrew watched as his last student finished their diffusal and left. Shortly after that McKnight arrived. Seeing Andrew dance back and forth behind Walsh was rather humorous in a crude way. Stowing her amusement, the Commander made her presence known. Andrew snapped to attention. Walsh didn't seem to care and slugged Andrew in the oblique. The man didn't even flinch.

"Andrew, please subdue Walsh and bring him with us to my office." Andrew quickly obliged, knocking Walsh to the ground and zip-cuffing him. Andrew dragged Walsh to his feet and began to follow McKnight.

* * *

McKnight angrily eyed Walsh. The man returned her glare from his seat. "Spartan Kasbin, when I said to drop this subject, I meant completely. Andrew came to me before attempting to set up his network. He didn't take any money from the syndicate. He put his ass in harm's way in order to obtain intelligence we needed to push the Red Hand out of New Sydney."

"He could be working with the enemy! I saw him using a Chatter. He could be communicating with them."

"Andrew, when was the last message from that mystery sender?"

"A few days ago. He was surprised that we went through with Street Sweeper. Even more surprised that I killed Daryna. My monthly report will include all of his messages as per usual. I'm no closer to figuring out their identity."

"Spartan Kasbin, ever since October Andrew has been receiving messages from someone closely tied to the local insurrection. This was brought to my attention as soon as Andrew had the chance to. He's not a traitor."

"That doesn't give him the right to act so aloof. He acts like none of this matters. Like he can just do as he pleases." McKnight was about to respond when Andrew motioned to let him take care of it.

"Walsh, are you aware of the rumors that surround the Spartan twos and threes?" Walsh shook his head. "Rumor has it that the Spartan twos and threes were children when they enlisted. Some might say the twos were kidnapped. Those rumors are true. I said I've been fighting since forty-four, that's because I was conscripted in forty-four at the age of five. I was trained to obtain intelligence any way I could. O.N.I wanted me for long term infiltration. In fifty-three I infiltrated an insurrection cell on New Harmony and worked with them for eleven months. While I was there, I made them turn on each other. When the time came, they didn't stand a chance against the UNSC. I was made to kill our own people and it makes me sick just thinking about it."

"Why would you tell me that."

"Because I've done things I'm not proud of. I still have to do things I'm not proud of. I do these things to protect the people of the UEG. I perform necessary evils so people can sleep knowing they're safe. If you think for one second that I've gone pinko, just ask the Commander to see what I did to Henshaw."

"Andrew, I believe you have a team meeting. I'll take care of Walsh. You're dismissed." Andrew simply nodded in response and left. "Now that he's gone, I'll show you Clayton Henshaw's final moments. October wasn't a good month for Phoenix's unit cohesion. Hargrove, bring up Phoenix Zero Two Kill Report Ten Twenty-two."

"Yes Commander. Kill Report Ten Twenty-two, two klicks outside of O.N.I Blacksite Foxhole. Starting playback." The large monitor on the wall lit up showing Clayton's emaciated form. The brief conversation between Andrew and the traitor played out. There was a hollowness to Andrew's voice that Walsh had never heard. It lacked empathy and emotion. Cold was the best way to describe it. The gun fired, dropping Clayton to his knees. The point of view lowered as Andrew matched Clayton's level and put a knife through the man's diaphragm. Walsh could see the man try to regain his breathing but fail. A full minute went by as Andrew stood and watched the man panic. Then the Spartan dumped his magazine into Clayton's torso. The body fell back into a grave and the video cut out.

"Why did you want me to see that?"

"Because Clayton was a traitor through and through. That's what Andrew does to traitors. He squeezes every last drop of intel out of them and then he kills them. He doesn't do it often for the sake of his mental health, but that's what O.N.I taught him to do. Stop harassing Phoenix. If anyone has a right to act aloof, it's them."

* * *

**February 22nd**

**11:38 Local Time**

**75 Klicks NW of Fort Keyes**

"I can't believe the Commander let you guys keep this thing!" Jaq exclaimed over comms.

"I can't believe Spartan Command actually put in a request for AMG to produce these for the company." King responded.

"I'm disappointed they're dropping the rocket pod for another MG." Andrew said plainly. The team had been given clearance to use the 'War Crime Wagon' for their patrols. They had about two hundred kilometers of road to patrol. To the right of the vehicle was a forest that stretched into the foothills of the mountains that separated the coastal region from the continent's vast inland desert. To the left were rural plains that eventually gave way to the sprawling coastal cities. Unfortunately, being on patrol meant traveling somewhere within normal city speed limits, meaning they had a long day of driving ahead. Thermer bumped Andrew's shoulder and pointed to a truck about a hundred and fifty meters ahead. Andrew slowed their vehicle and blocked the road about fifty meters away from the abandoned truck.

"Andrew, grab Sylas and check it out. King, stay on that gun. Sam, Jaq, keep an eye on sightlines." Thermer received four acknowledgement lights in response. Andrew went around behind the vehicle and unclipped Sylas from the seat. Together the two walked towards the abandoned pickup truck. About ten meters away Sylas stopped dead in his tracks. Andrew gave the Hellhound a pat on his armor and a silent command to return to Thermer.

* * *

"He says it's rigged, Boss. How should I proceed?"

"Stay alert, but see if you can disarm it."

Andrew approached the vehicle slowly, his Battle Rifle at a low ready. Five meters away the tail lights turned on. Andrew immediately brought the rifle to his shoulder and started to back away. Focusing just enough he could hear a click come from the front of the truck. _'RUN!' _He wasn't one to argue. The Spartan turned and bolted. "HIT THE-"

**_BOOM!_**

Andrew was ripped from his feet and tossed four meters before slamming into the ground belly first. His ears rang, his head was swimming, through unfocused eyes his hud blinked red and time itself was crawling at a snail's pace. A jolt of energy cleared his cloudy thoughts and his vision came to focus. He rolled onto his back, pulling the pistol from his hip. From his supine position he could at least get an eye on any targets. Someone yelled something, he couldn't exactly hear them over the ringing. What he could hear was the immediate staccato of gunfire. Suddenly a hand wrapped around the underside of his chestplate and started to drag him.

* * *

"HIT THE-"

**_BOOM!_**

Thermer ducked and shielded himself from any debris. The explosion was over as soon as it started and the team leader could see the smoldering wreckage of the civilian vehicle. Sylas bolted for Andrew's Battle Rifle. Thermer ran for his downed explosives expert.

"CONTACT TEN O' CLOCK!" King yelled over his ringing ears

"TAKE 'EM DOWN PHOENIX! I'VE GOT ANDREW!" By the time Thermer had reached Andrew the man had rolled over and was seemingly ready to fight. Jesse grabbed Andrew's cuirass by the sternum and dragged him to their vehicle. When he looked down Andrew was in the process of removing his helmet. Normally he would've scolded him for it but the gunfire had already stopped. King came around to check on the two. Thermer spoke one word, "Report."

"Hostile forces are neutralized. Sam and Jaq are scanning the sight lines. I'll check him out."

"Copy." Thermer patched into the GROUNDNET. "Command, this is Phoenix Actual, do you read? Over."

"Phoenix Actual, Command, we read you lima charlie. What's your status? Over."

Thermer looked over to King cleaning the blood from Andrew's ears. "Command, we've made contact with the enemy. Car bomb was detonated, one friendly injury, all hostiles eliminated. Requesting reinforcements and permission to RTB. Over."

"What's your position? Over."

"Seventy-five klicks out Northwest by North. Broadcasting emergency beacon. Popping smoke in two minutes. Over."

"Copy Phoenix, seventy-five Northwest by North. Smoke in two. Friendly support is en route, hold position until further instruction. Over."

"Readback confirmed. Holding position. Phoenix out." Thermer knelt down next to Andrew and King. "How's he doing?"

"Perforated eardrum, serious concussion, muscle contusions in his back. He's not good to fight or drive."

"That's fine, support is on its way and we're awaiting instruction for RTB. We'll get him home."

"He's right here and very much not fine, Boss. I feel like I'm going to vomit." Andrew quipped as he lazily scratched Sylas's ear. "Guter hund."

"Don't worry big guy, we'll get you right as rain. King, pop orange in two mikes. Sam, how we doing?"

"No hostiles in sight. Bastards came outta left field. How's Andrew."

"Down for the count."

"I'm right here guys."

Minutes passed and King popped their smoke signal. Andrew wasn't exactly sure of how long it had been since the explosion, just that Sylas was by his side and that he felt like roadkill. A distant sound caught Sam's attention. "Engines about four minutes out, Boss."

"Good ear."

"Phoenix, this is Fireteam Aegis, we see orange. Over." A voice said over Thermer's comms.

"Affirmative Aegis, proceed on current route. Phoenix out." Thermer turned back to King and Andrew. "Brandon, get him up and in the back of the Wagon. Take your time though. Sam, you're copilot. Jaq when we get moving, I want you keeping an eye on Andrew. Make sure he doesn't fall asleep."

King and Andrew took their time getting up. By the time Andrew was on his feet Aegis was arriving. King was acting as a support for his injured comrade. Andrew's words came out slow and slurred. "You might want to take a few steps away."

King didn't get a chance to question his battle brother before Andrew leaned forward and wretched. His breakfast met asphalt in short order. Aegis One looked past Thermer at Andrew and then back to Thermer. The silent question was answered by a quick nod to the destroyed truck. Aegis One was still confused. "What was he doing so close to a car bomb?"

"We couldn't be sure at the time. I sent him to investigate and disarm if that was the case. Turns out it was an ambush. Five of them tried to hit us after they detonated the bomb. I'll ping the bodies for you."

"Oh, copy. Looks like he'll be out of commission for a while."

"I'm not a fuckin' vending machine. You can just say laid up." Andrew griped from his seat in the 'hog.

"Wow, just got blown up and you're still an asshole. Sometimes I wonder how your unit functions."

"Don't have to worry about it when everyone is an asshole, fuckface."

"Any further orders from base command?" Jesse cut in before the two could go on berating each other.

"Phoenix is clear to return to base. Stay safe out there."

"Thanks, we'll let you handle things from here. Phoenix, load up we are RTB." Thermer made his way to the driver's seat.

"Boss, with all due respect, please quiet down. My brain is registering sound as pain."

"How do you take two eight-gauge shells to the gut and seem fine, but a concussion has you acting like a bitch?" Sam turned around from the passenger seat as he asked.

"I will turn your arm into a fuckin' whisk if you don't turn around and shut your hole." Andrew threatened. Sam grumbled something under his breath. Again, the white noise and pain drowned out what was said.

"Andrew, no modifying Sam's prosthetic. That's an order." Thermer started the engine and started their trip back to base. Andrew stayed quiet most of the trip, either zoned out or deep in thought; the others couldn't really tell. To Andrew time just seemed to slip by; he would occasionally check the chronometer on his HUD to find that several minutes had passed, even though it felt like mere seconds. Looking around one last time he found themselves in front of Fort Keye's gates. _'When did we get here? Oh well, just gotta get inside and head to medical.'_

* * *

**February 24th**

**11:45 Local Time**

Phoenix were lounging in their quarters. King, Jaq and Sam were on the couch in the living area watching some movie. From what Andrew could hear of it the film was pretty bad. Stunted dialogue, poor understanding of military radio chatter, bad sound effects; it was kind of amusing listening to the others laughing at how awful it was. Jesse was busy with paperwork. From what Andrew could remember it was a whole lot of crap regarding the bombing and his injuries. That was one thing he hated about the service, the paperwork; anytime something needed to be done there was always paperwork. This rifle needs a new barrel? Fill this out in duplicate. Disarmed a bomb? Better write a step by step guide on how you accomplished that. It was all time better spent doing anything else in his opinion. Not that Andrew could do much of anything with his concussion. Sure, the contusions were sore, but he could work through those. The brain damage was a different story; if he moved too fast, he'd vomit, if something was too loud, he'd have to leave until it was quiet, too bright and he'd need a hat and shades. He hated feeling useless. A knock at the door caught all of them off guard. Thermer answered to find Arinn standing on the other side. He spoke in a gentle tone. "Worried about the big guy?"

"Yes, but that's not the only reason I'm here." She answered. "He has an appointment today, I figured I'd come down here for it instead of making him come to my office. That is if you don't mind?"

"Sure, c'mon in, I'll grab the others and get out of your hair. Hey Andrew, want us to grab you some lunch?"

"What's on the menu today?"

"I think the mess is serving lasagna today." Sam said. Andrew tossed a plastic container to Thermer. The lasagna was one of the only edible things the mess served. That and the tacos. The irony of that wasn't lost on anyone. King shut off the T.V and started to follow the others out.

"Hey, we haven't worked on that project in a while, we should see about doing that sometime soon." Andrew's slow nod was enough of an answer. As King left, Arinn took the chair from Andrew's desk and sat down. Andrew sat up a little in his bunk, wincing as the action pulled on the bruised muscles in his back. Arinn pulled her data-pad from her bag and began recording.

"So, how's your recovery going."

"Oh, you know, stuck in bed doing nothing. My back still hurts and my brain feels like mashed potatoes. I feel pretty useless. I can't run drills or do my job on base. I'm stuck here sleeping and talking. The one good thing is that I can hang out with Sylas."

"You two have a really strong connection, don't you?" Arinn asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, we do. Our first assignment together was that one in early September. When I got shot in the gut and kinda dismembered a Sangheili. We protected each other. I think he has me pegged for his pack brother. Either way our efficiency is through the roof."

"Yeah, Jaq and I had a chat a week ago. She mentioned that you two are terrifying together. Speaking of, where is he?"

"He has an appointment with some veterinarians or something. They're the people who worked on him during augmentations just checking to make sure he didn't get hurt too bad recently."

"Got it, well if you don't mind, I'd like to work on your pyromania today."

"Aren't you concerned about how I'm rationalising my near-death experience?"

"You want to get back in the field now more than ever in order to prevent more people from getting caught up in these car bombs. You want to channel your anger into combat and you're irritated that you're stuck here healing instead. Do I need to go on?" She deadpanned.

"No, that pretty much covers it. Damn you're good."

"We've known each other since before the destruction of Alpha Base. Now shall we talk about why you seem so keen to burn anything you can to a cinder?"

"Sure, I'm not really sure how this will help me though." Andrew shrugged.

"When was the first time you set something on fire?"

"Back in Camp Currahee during survival training. We had to learn how to start a fire without tools. It was the first time I'd seen natural fire. Not like a gas stove or burning fuel, but wood and leaves. There was something beautiful about it."

"What do you find beautiful about fire?" Arinn leaned forward.

"The purity of it. As humans we harness it to our own destructive ends. The fact is that fire is part of the natural cycle. When a forest burns down the old growth is destroyed, consumed by the fire, but it gives the forest new life. The ash fertilizes the soil, younger trees are too moist to burn and get the opportunity to grow. One could say that the legend of the phoenix is born from wildfires. Fire has no intent, no desire to change the world. It consumes and leaves behind a second chance for the affected area."

"Is that why you desire to burn things, to let nature retake the area you burn?" She made a note to listen to his explanation again later.

"No, that's not it. I can't really put my finger on why I feel that way. I think I'm just wired to destroy things. Fire seems like an efficient means to do so."

"I think that's your training and conditioning speaking."

"Not necessarily. At the orphanage I used to pick fights with the other kids all the time. That didn't really stop. I'm still always looking for a fight."

"You've never mentioned that behavior at the orphanage before. I don't think you've ever really mentioned the orphanage. That opens up a lot more questions."

"Like?"

"Why did you pick fights?"

"I was angry. I was there for five years. Not once did a family choose me. Seeing other kids get picked made me feel unwanted. I guess that behavior was self-destructive. Who would want a kid that keeps trying to hurt people? My training only amplified that. Hey, could you pass me that canteen and pill bottle?" Andrew pointed at the desired objects on his desk. Arinn passed them and the Spartan gave a shallow nod before taking a few of the white tablets and a large sip of water.

"So, if that's the old you, who do you see now?" Arinn felt like this was the most progress they'd made since September.

"I'll need to think about that for a moment. Can you pass the helmet over there?" Arinn picked up the relic and passed it over. Even with all the damage, it was still heavy. She watched as Andrew intently studied the broken helm. His right thumb traced over the massive gash in the box that made up the GUNGNIR's faceplate. Flipping it over Andrew gazed inside at the cracked visor and bloodstains. Rolling it around he inspected the etchings he made in the helm; his tag and kill count. Setting it down he looked back at Arinn.

"Ready?" She asked.

"Yeah. Looking back, I see a young man troubled by the things he's done in the name of the only thing that gave him purpose. I see a person that despite his misgivings wouldn't question orders. A person that didn't want help. To an extent I still am troubled by it. On the other hand, now-a-days I find my purpose is to protect the people. My chain of command would agree, but I don't do it for the military. I do it for the people. I want a future where soldiers like myself aren't necessary. I want a peaceful future. I'm also far more willing to question the orders we're given. I'm a troubled person who needs help, but I admit that I do. So here I am, getting help. If I don't, I'll never be able to move on."

"Do you understand that I've been waiting for you to say that for years? That you want to move on? I want to know something. When you get out, where will you go?"

"With any luck, back to Tribute. Maybe I'll put my skills to use and help people find the things or people they lost when the war came to the planet." He said wistfully.

"I want you to focus on that goal from now on. That's your personal reason for always moving forward. Got it?"

"Aye, aye. Here, you mind putting this back for me?" Andrew passed the helmet back to her. Arinn was about to put it back on the desk when she stopped and looked at him. A simple nod answered her silent question and Arinn went about examining the battered relic. She still remembered the days when Andrew wore the helmet. Even though Trost fell only five years prior, it felt like so much longer. Her home world had lost its ability to hold human life when Marc Bedragare crashed a Forerunner Dreadnought into its surface. Ironically, the man had done it in a desperate gamble to save the colony from a Promethean invasion. While it broke their blockade in the Delta Forti system, it destroyed the biosphere. It happened slowly, took months for the radiation and debris to poison the planet, but it happened nonetheless. It was something that she had in common with the Spartan. The loss of their home.

"This thing took a hell of a beating. It's incredible to actually hold a piece of your story. It puts things into perspective. Do you remember the fight that broke this helmet?"

"Yeah, motorized patrol on Trost. Got ambushed by Covies. Most of them got wiped out. The rest of us bugged out and bolted for Alpha Base. My mongoose was pretty banged up. I managed to get back to the motor pool and ditch the mongoose before the engine exploded. The fragmentation shredded the helmet and wrecked my left knee. I've got metal plates in it and a flash cloned knee cap. I came pretty close to being decapitated on that one." Andrew said a little too carelessly.

"So, this gash was from a chunk of a mongoose. Were you scared at all?" Arinn asked with a fair amount of concern.

"Absolutely terrified that the thing would blow up and kill me before I got back to base. After that, absolutely elated that only my knee was busted." Andrew said realizing his mistake. Arinn placed the broken helm back on the desk. Giving him a quick look, she shut her recorder off and put his chair back.

"I think I'll let you rest now. Remember not to overdo it until you're recovered." She was halfway out the door when his voice stopped her.

"Hey, thanks for swinging by. I appreciate it. Having part of my schedule stay the same takes my mind off of things." Arinn turned around and gave him a Spartan smile before heading out.

* * *

**March 1st, 2569**

**15:38 Local Time**

Jaq entered the team's barracks surprised to see Andrew out of bed. The last week he'd mostly lounged in bed nursing his concussion. It was obvious he hadn't bothered to slick his hair back, but she couldn't blame him for not bothering. The next thing she noticed was that he was seemingly deep in conversation with King. She meandered over to where they sat in the living area and plopped down in a chair. "'Sup fuckers?"

Andrew paused the recorder on the data-pad and looked at her slowly. His voice was rather unamused. "Working on a project with Brandon."

"What kinda project? This isn't some scheme to get back to fighting quicker is it?" She teased. Andrew was having a hard time figuring her out. Mrs. J and Jaq were two very different people. J was very business oriented and focused while Jaq was a bit bubblier. She was similar enough to everyone that they got along, but she was difficult for him to get a good read on.

"If you have to know, we're getting everything I remember about my first assignment down into a recording." Andrew said plainly.

"Why?" Jaq cocked her head to the side. Andrew groaned, the interruption already giving him a headache.

"That's right, you don't know much about Operation OUTCAST. Well I'll keep it short. Big guy here was tasked with infiltrating an innie stronghold and destroying their leadership from the inside. The things he did left him pretty fucked up. Sometimes he has night terrors about it. He's literally punched Sam in a panic because of it." King said quickly while Andrew took some painkillers.

"So, he's documenting it to get everything off his chest. Why does he need you for that?"

"Because I couldn't just talk to a microphone in an empty room. Despite having reservations about opening up to people, I find it easier than talking to a data-pad." Andrew answered bluntly.

"Gotcha, well don't let me interrupt. I'm just gonna listen in, learn a little about my teammate's dark past." She teased again. Andrew groaned as he resumed the recording.

"As I was saying, my next order was to remove their comms officer. I went about setting him up in a manner that he'd never be able to prove himself innocent. The full nine. Falsified waypoint chats, fake Chatters, doctored footage of him sneaking off base. I dumped everything on the commander's desk and sold that story like a kig-yar merchant. Poor bastard was executed the same day."

"What sort of fallout did that cause?"

"The kid in comms that befriended me, he ended up picking up a lot of the slack left over. I wonder if that hurt his chances of leaving that place before we attacked. Not like he would've left. I still regret not being able to convince him. He didn't deserve his fate, but letting him escape probably would've led him to more radical groups." Andrew hung his head as he remembered the assault on the compound. He wasn't ready to tell that story just yet.

"A lot of your regret comes from not being able to save that kid, doesn't it?" King asked cautiously.

"Yeah, it does. It's hard knowing that despite everything, you couldn't save the one person that could've been redeemed. It eats you up."

"I can understand that. There's someone I couldn't save either. I did something really stupid after that. I'm amazed I didn't die." King sympathized with his battle brother. Andrew stood up slowly and walked over to his desk. Picking up the wrecked helmet he made his way back to the couch and sat down. Examining the destroyed armor, he slowly formed his words.

"I did a lot of things I'm not proud of over the course of OUTCAST. I lied, cheated, and murdered people, all the while telling myself that it was for the safety of the colony. I even had to kill our people. Innocent soldiers laid to waste by one of the Spartans they were supposed to be happy to see. I was fine with killing the insurrection's leadership, but not our own people." Jaq stared quizzically when Andrew brought up having to kill UNSC forces. She hadn't expected something like that.

"Did the other members of their command ever get suspicious of you? Turning in all of these so-called traitors had to make them worry."

"No, I always waited a fair amount of time. Made it look like I was actually investigating them. I always had weeks' worth of evidence. There weren't many high-ranking people in the rebellion. Sometimes I'd wait a month or longer. By the time we assaulted the compound the only high-ranking officers left from when I arrived were the Commander and quartermaster. Everyone else was significantly inexperienced in their field. It made them much weaker in battle." Jaq was staring at Andrew with a look of shock and dismay. The way he talked about dismantling this rebellion was something different. She knew he hated insurrectionists, but the tone of his voice was melancholic. It betrayed what she believed to know. _'What did he do,' _She asked herself.

King was about to say something when Sylas entered the barracks and trotted to Andrew. The massive dog set his chin on Andrew's knee and leaned against his leg. Thermer and Sam made their way in and Andrew stopped the recording. King passed his microphone over to Andrew. Looking at the time he realized it was close to his duty shift. He got up and whispered in Jaq's ear. "Meet me in the mess after my shift. I'll explain some more about this later."

* * *

Notes: I'm back! For a while I was struggling with some pretty severe writers block when it came to this story. Then I lost internet for a little over a month. I'm back though. Welcome to the beginning of the end. This story will be wrapping up around chapter twenty. Don't worry, I have another story in the works. It'll be shorter, but I'm enjoying writing it a lot more than I have been with OUTCAST. Anyway, stay tuned in for Chapter 17: Breaking the Wall.


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